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RISING WOLF, THE WHITE BLACK- 
FOOT. Illustrated. 

RUNNING EAGLE, THE WARRIOR GIRL 
With illustrations. 

LONE BULL’S MISTAKE: A Lodge Pole 
Chief Story. Illustrated. 

BIRD WOMAN. Illustrated. 

THE GOLD CACHE. Illustrated. 

APAUK, CALLER OF BUFFALO. Illus- 
trated. 

ON THE WARPATH. Illustrated. 

THE QUEST OF THE FISH-DOG SKIN. 
Illustrated. 

SINOPAH, THE INDIAN BOY. Illustrated. 
WITH THE INDIANS IN THE ROCKIES. 
Illustrated. 

MY LIFE AS AN INDIAN. Illustrated. 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
Boston and New York 


In the Great Apache Forest 

The Story of a Lone Boy Scout 





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SAW THE INDIAN STOP SHORT, RAISE 

AT THE BEAR {page 


HIS BOW 

156) 


AND LET FLY 


IN THE GREAT 
APACHE FOREST 


The Story of a hone "Boy Scout 

BY 

JAMES WILLARD SCHULTZ 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 



BOSTON AND NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
The Riverside Press Cambridge 


1920 



COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY JAMBS WILLARD SCHULTZ 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


A >4' 



JUN -8 1920 

©CU570269 





CONTENTS 


Introducing the Hero i 

I. Alone on Mount Thomas io 

II. The Mountain Cave 25 

III. The Firebugs at Work 47 

IV. Hunting the Deserter 68 

V. The People-of-Peace 89 

VI. The Wrongs of the Hopis hi 

VII. The Old Men in Rain God’s Cave 134 

VIII. The Death of Old Double Killer i 54 

IX. The Bear Skin is Stolen 175 

X. Catching the Firebugs 197 



I 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Saw the Indian stop short, raise his bow and let 

FLY AT THE BEAR Frontispiece 

He was turning over rocks and licking the ex- 
posed UNDER surfaces 4O 

Found our way blocked by a large, three-cor- 
nered SLAB OF ROCK 86 

I TOOK A CAREFUL SIGHT AT ONE OF THE BIG BUCKS 200 


Drawn by Harold Cue 

















IN THE GREAT 

APACHE FOREST 

• • 

INTRODUCING THE HERO 

T his is to be George Crosby’s — the Lone 
Boy Scout’s — own story. But before I set 
it down, as he told it evening after evening before 
the big fireplace in my shooting lodge, some expla- 
nations are necessary.^ 

George Crosby was born and has lived all of his 
seventeen years, in Greer, a settlement of a half- 
dozen pioneer families located on the Little Colo- 
rado River, in the White Mountains, Arizona, and 
io8 miles south of the nearest railway, the Santa 
Fe, at Holbrook. Here is a high country; the alti- 
tude of Greer is 8500 feet, and south of it there is a 
steady rise for eleven miles to the summit of the 

^ I have, of course, in many instances changed the 
narrator’s wording, but it is his story, all the same. 


I 


In the Great Apache Forest 

range, Mount Thomas, 11,460 feet. And here, cov- 
ering both slopes of the White Mountains, is the 
largest virgin forest that we have outside of Alaska, 
the Apache National Forest. It is about a hundred 
miles wide, and more than that in length, and con- 
tains millions of feet of centuries-old Douglas fir, 
white pine, and spruce. But it is an open forest 
— one can ride at will through most of it, and it is 
interspersed with many parks of open grassland of 
varying extent. On its southern slope it adjoins the 
reservation of the White Mountain Apaches, who 
are still carefully watched by several companies of 
United States Cavalry, stationed at Fort Apache. 
Because it is so remote from the railroads, the 
great forest still harbors an abundance of game 
animals and birds, and its cold, pure streams are 
full of trout. Here the sportsman can still find 
grizzly bears, some of them of great size. There are 
black bears, also, and mule deer and Mexican 
whitetail deer, and of wild turkeys and blue grouse 
great numbers. Cougars, wolves, coyotes, and 
lesser prowlers of the night are quite numerous. 


2 


Introducing the Hero 

and In most of the streams the beavers are ever at 
work upon their dams and lodges. 

The settlers of Greer are a hardy people. Born 
and reared at this great altitude, they are men and 
women and children of more than the average 
height, and of tremendous lung expansion. Theirs 
is one continuous struggle with Nature for the 
necessities of life, for here, in the heart of Arizona, 
they are actually in a sub-Arctic climate. Summer 
frosts — even in August — sometimes kill their 
fields of oats, and in the deep snows of the winters 
some of their cattle frequently perish. But they do 
their best, these mountain people. Though their 
crops fail and their live-stock die, they ‘‘carry on” 
with hopeful hearts. And remote from civilization 
though they are — some of them have never seen 
a railroad — they are surprisingly well informed of 
world activities. For they have a tri-weekly mail 
service and subscribe for all the best magazines 
and several daily papers, and thoroughly read 
them. They are all patriotic: when the war broke 
out their sons did not wait to be drafted ; they at 
3 


In the Great Apache Forest 

once enlisted, and in due time faced the Huns in 
France. How the women and girls then worked for 
the Red Cross, and the men for Liberty Bonds! 
From Greer Post-Office went hundreds of sweaters 
and pairs of well-knit stockings, and every bond 
allotment of the settlement was largely over- 
subscribed! 

It was then, at the opening of the war, that 
George Crosby considered what he could do for the 
good cause. At first he used all his spare time doing 
chores for those whose sons had enlisted. But that 
was not exactly what he wanted to do; it was n’t 
big enough. If he only had some authority, there 
was much that he could do. He had long wanted 
to be a member of the Boy Scouts ; nothing about 
them in the magazines and newspapers that came 
to his home ever escaped his eye. And now he read 
of the great work they were doing toward the win- 
ning of the war, and determined that he must join 
the organization. But how could he do it? There 
could be no company of Scouts formed in Greer; 
he was the only boy there save two or three little 


4 


Introducing the Hero 

toddlers. For days he brooded over the question, 
and then, without a word about it to his mother 
and stepfather, he one evening wrote the follow- 
ing touching appeal to me — the one man of the 
great outside world whom he knew, in far-away Los 
Angeles: 

Dear Friend: 

I call you friend because I know you are my 
friend. Your shooting lodge looks very lonesome 
these days, the windows all shuttered and no smoke 
coming out of the big chimney. We all wish that 
you may soon come back to it. You should come 
right away, for only day before yesterday, when I 
was hunting for some of our horses a couple of miles 
up the river, I saw the fresh tracks of a big grizzly 
bear, and I know that you want another one. Some 
big gobblers are using the spring just up the slope 
from your place. 

Uncle Cleve Wiltbank has gone to the war, and 
so have Mark Hawes, Henry Butler, and Forest 
Ranger Billingslea, and we sure miss them. I am 
S 


In the Great Apache Forest 

just mad because I am not old enough to go, too. 
But if I can only join the Boy Scouts I may be able 
to help, some. Anyhow, I could then trail about 
after some strange men who have lately come into 
these mountains, and seem not to want to meet 
any of us. We never get more than a glimpse of 
them. We don’t even know where they are camped. 
I wish that you would get me into the Boy Scouts. 
I am sure that you can do it. 

Your mountain friend 

George Crosby 

Upon receiving this note, I at once sent it to a 
Phoenix, Arizona, friend who I knew was interested 
in the Boy Scouts organization, and the result was 
that, after the exchange of several letters, George 
Crosby became a member of a troop of the Phoe- 
nix Boy Scouts of America. 

Time passed. Came the summer of 1918, and the 
Supervisor of the Apache National Forest found 
himself woefully short of men, and the dreaded fire 
season coming on. The most of his rangers, fire 
6 


Introducing the Hero 

lookouts, and patrols had gone to the war, and he 
could not find enough men of the right sort to take 
their places. When word of this shortage of men 
reached Greer, the settlers were seriously troubled 
about it. Said John Butler, George Crosby’s step- 
father: ‘‘This is sure bad for us. Fires will be 
started by the lightning, and by careless travelers, 
and if there are no lookouts to report them, they 
will gain such headway that they will burn our 
whole cattle range. Then we will go broke!” 

“Well, I’ll be one of the lookouts if the Super- 
visor will take me on,” said George. 

“Sure! That is the very thing for you to do — ” 
John began, but the good mother broke in: “No! 
No! George is too young — too inexperienced to 
undertake that dangerous, lonely work. Away up 
on one of those peaks by himself, right where the 
electric storms center — right among those terrible 
grizzly bears — strange men prowling about in the 
forest, bad men, of course, or they would make 
themselves known to us — no, I do not want my 
boy to be a fireguard.” 


7 


In the Great Apache Forest 

*‘But those mysterious men have gone!” George 
exclaimed. ‘‘Roy Hall found their deserted camp. 
If I let the grizzlies alone, they’ll let me alone! 
And as to the thunderstorms, I know the rules: 
when they gather, the fireguards must leave the 
lookout stations and go down to their cabins. Don’t 
you fear for me, mother. I’ll be safe enough!” 

“Sure he will!” John told her. “And just think, 
wife, of the service he will be to the country in its 
time of need ! And now that he has become a Boy 
Scout, something big is expected of him. Well, here 
is his chance to do the big thing!” 

The mother sighed. “ I take back my objections,” 
she said. “I should not have said one word against 
this. If my own young brother can face the Huns 
in France, then it is but fair that my young son 
shall face the lesser dangers in this Apache Forest V* 

When Forest Supervisor Frederic Winn, in 
Springerville, received George’s letter of applica- 
tion for a position as fireguard during the season, 
he, too, heaved a big sigh, but it was a sigh of 
relief. He hurried home from the office to tell Mrs. 

8 


Introducing the Hero 

Winn that George Crosby was to be a fireguard, 
and then he called for his big, black horse, and 
rode the eighteen miles up across the desert and 
into the forest to Greer, to give George his neces- 
sary instructions, and tell him that his salary 
would be ninety dollars per month. 

But there! I have talked enough. With this 
introduction, I let George tell his story, a story 
that I found exciting enough. I find, though, that 
I have omitted to describe his person. Well, in 
place of it I give you his photograph. Just note 
how tall and well-built he is for his age — seven- 
teen years — and what a powerful chest he has. 
That is what one gets by being born and reared at 
an elevation of 8500 feet! 


CHAPTER I 

Alone on Mount Thomas 

I T was the 28th of May when Supervisor Winn 
rode up to our place from Springerville, and 
told me that I could be one of his fireguards, and 
that he would place me on Mount Thomas. That, 
the highest lookout station in all the forest, was 
the one I wanted, but had not dared ask for. I 
thought that it would likely be occupied by some 
experienced fireguard. Twice in my life I had been 
on Mount Thomas, but only for an hour or so each 
time, and it was such an interesting place that I 
had longed for a chance to spend days up there. 
At nine o’clock on the morning of June i, all fire- 
guards in the forest were required to telephone the 
Supervisor, at Springerville, that they were in their 
lookout stations, ready for duty, so I had but two 
days to gather an outfit for my season’s work, and 
another day in which to move up to the little fire- 
guard cabin just under the summit of Mount 


10 


Alone on Mount Thomas 

Thomas. My mother and my sister, Hannah, 
packed the clothing that I would need, and the 
towels, dishcloths, and food, and I, myself, made 
a good sleeping-bag by sewing a blanket and two 
quilts together, and slipping them into an outer 
cover of heavy canvas. Up to this time my one 
weapon had been a little 22-caliber rifle; good 
enough for shooting turkeys, squirrels, and even 
coyotes. But now I needed a real rifle, and my 
mother said that I could take my Uncle Cleveland’s 
30-30 Winchester. I found that it was still well 
oiled, and the inside of the barrel as bright as a 
new silver dollar. I promised that I would keep it 
in that condition. 

On the last day of May, right after breakfast. 
Uncle John — as I call my stepfather — and I 
packed my outfit upon two stout horses, and then 
we mounted our saddle animals and took the trail 
for Mount Thomas. We climbed Amburon Point, 
at the head of our oatfield, and between the East 
and West Forks of the river, and threading the 
seven miles of forest and open park land, struck 


II 


In the Great Apache Forest 

the East Fork, where, leaving its narrow canyon 
at the foot of the big mountain, it meanders for a 
mile or more down through a narrow valley of open 
meadow land. Here, on the west side of the valley, 
rising from a narrow, pineclad slope, are the Red 
Cliffs, or, as some of our mountain people call them, 
the Painted Cliffs: high upshoots of red lava that 
have many a hole in them where bears sleep in 
winter, and where mountain lions have their young, 
so some of our hunters say. 

VWell, as we were skirting the timber strip at the 
foot of these cliffs, ahead of us a couple of hundred 
yards three coyotes suddenly broke into the open 
and ran across the meadow so fast that they seemed 
to be just long, gray streaks in the grass; and they 
kept looking back as they ran, not at us, but at the 
timber from whence they had come. 

‘‘Something in there has given them a big scare. 
Let’s. have a look-see,” Uncle John said to me, and 
I was willing enough to go in. We left the pack- 
horses to graze about, and had not gone more than 
fifty yards into the timber, taking as near as we 


12 


Alone on Mount Thomas 

could the back trail of the coyotes, when we came 
to a spring that had been freshly roiled, and along 
its edges, deep in the black mud, were the tracks 
of a big grizzly. We then discovered the partly 
eaten carcass of a big buck mule deer a few yards 
beyond the spring. But Uncle John was n’t so much 
interested in that as he was in the bear tracks: 
^^Only one bear in these mountains leaves tracks 
the size of those, and that is old Double Killer,” 
he said. And just then came a swirl of wind in our 
faces, strong with the rank odor of bear, and our 
horses got it, too, and whirled about so suddenly 
that we nearly lost our seats; nor could we check 
them as they carried us out of the timber as fast 
as the coyotes had left it. We finally brought them 
to a stand at the edge of the creek, and then forced 
them to return to the pack-horses, quietly feeding 
and apparently unaware of the proximity of the 
big bear. 

‘‘Now, isn’t this just my usual luck!” Uncle 
John grumbled, as we again took the trail. “Here 
is old Double Killer feasting upon a deer carcass — 

13 


In the Great Apache Forest 

I sure believe he stole it from a mountain lion — 
and here I am with no time to stop and watch for 
him to come back to the carcass! Yes, and without 
a rifle, even if I could take the time!’’ 

“I’ll let you have my rifle, and you can watch 
for him this evening,” I proposed. 

“Have n’t the time for it! Now that you have 
left home, it is up to me to milk ten cows every 
morning and evening,” he answered. “But what a 
fine chance this would be to kill the old beef- 
eater!” 

And then, after some thought, he added: “But 
ten to one he will not now return to the carcass 
until night — dusk, anyhow, and I don’t want to 
tackle him all by myself when it is too dark to be 
sure of my aim. The man who wounds that bear is 
going to have a big fight on his hands ! Yes, and will 
probably get the worst of it!” 

It was now just seven years that this bear had 
roamed our part of the country. He had first made 
his appearance on Escodilla Mountain, doubtless 
coming there from the Mogollon Range, in New 

14 


Alone on Mount Thomas 

Mexico. Henry Willis, a settler at the foot of Esco- 
dilla, was the first man to see him. Out hunting 
cattle, one day, he discovered a small band of them 
resting in a meadow, and as he was riding toward 
them a huge bear suddenly leaped into their midst 
from the timber, struck a steer that was lying down 
just one blow on the back of its neck and killed it, 
and then sprang from it to a cow that was getting 
up, and knocked her back upon the ground, killing 
her, too, with one blow of his huge paw. And then 
the bear got wind of Willis and went back into the 
timber. Willis hurried home and got a couple of 
men to watch with him for the bear to return to his 
kills, but he did not come until long after dark, and 
then he winded them and went off loudly snorting, 
and never did come back to the carcasses. It was 
some time later that the settlers learned the pecul- 
iar habit of this bear, to kill two beef animals at a 
time whenever he wanted meat, and so they named 
him ‘‘Double Killer.” He did n’t always make his 
two kills; the second animal that he attacked some- 
times escaping with a few deep scratches, or so 
IS 


In the Great Apache Forest 

badly torn that it afterward died. Those who knew 
best the cruel work of Double Killer estimated 
that he made away with at least two thousand 
dollars worth of beef a year. And so, of course, 
many attempts were made to end his bloody career. 
But he avoided traps, however skillfully they were 
set for him, would not touch poisoned meat, and 
survived the bullets of the riders who occasionally 
got sight of him. All who saw him said that he was 
of huge size, that he was a silvertip, with bald — 
white — head, and a large white spot on his breast. 
The Cattlemen’s Association of Apache County 
was now offering a reward of two hundred dollars 
for the death of the bear. I asked myself if I had 
the courage to attempt to earn it, provided I should 
see the old fellow in broad daylight ? 

Continuing on up the meadow, we crossed the 
creek at the head of it and entered the heavy spruce 
forest that clothes the steep slopes of Mount 
Thomas. Here were still patches of the winter 
snow, in places five or six feet deep. But the Forest 
Service telephone line repairers had already been 

i6 


Alone on Mount Thomas 

to the summit with their pack-train, so the trail 
was well broken and we made good time. Down 
below, the groves of Douglas firs and white pines 
that we had traversed were carpeted with bright 
flowers and full of many kinds of singing birds. 
Here under the tall spruces was deep silence and 
deep gloom that always made me shiver. The few 
fallen trees lay like picked bones upon the dark, 
needle-strewn slope. No flowers were here except 
those of a few scattering blueberry bushes, and not 
a bird did we see other than a couple of silent- 
flitting, drab moose birds. I was glad when, at 
something like ii,ooo feet, we came out on the top 
of the ridge and into the bright sunshine, and saw 
above us the bare, long summit of the mountain, 
its rim deep with glistening snow. And then, in a 
little clearing, we came to the tiny fireguard cabin. 
Here again were flowers, and singing birds, and 
scampering chipmunks and squirrels. We dis- 
mounted in front of the four by six feet porch of 
the cabin, unpacked the horses and piled my out- 
fit upon it, and with my Forest Service key un- 

17 


In the Great Apache Forest 

locked the padlocked door and stepped inside, and 
found but little more than room to turn around in. 
The cabin is only a ten by twelve feet room of very 
small logs, the only kind obtainable at that height. 
It has two small windows; in one corner a very 
small cook-stove; opposite it a narrow bunk of 
poles; and against the wall, and near the telephone 
screwed to the wall, a small table. A galvanized 
iron, squirrel- and rat-proof food chest occupies a 
good share of the floor space. 

“Well, here you are, snug as a bug in a rug,” 
said Uncle John, after a good look around, “except 
that it’s sure airy : you could sling a cat out between 
any two of the logs. They sure need chinking!” 

“They will not be chinked by me; plenty of air 
is what I like,” I answered, little thinking how soon 
I was to change my mind as to the gaping spaces. 
We brought my outfit inside, put the things in their 
proper places, and had a hurried lunch. It was 
about two o’clock. Uncle John said he must be 
going, in order to arrive home in time to do the 
milking. Just then the telephone bell gave two 

i8 


Alone on Mount Thomas 

short rings. I looked at the printed card hanging 
beside it and saw that the call was for me, and 
answered. 

“That you, George?” came Supervisor Winn’s 
voice so plainly that Uncle John could also hear 
what he said. 

“Yes, I am here,” I answered. 

“Glad that you are. Green’s Peak reports a fire 
somewhere on 38. Go up on top and report what 
you see.” 

“Right away,” I answered, and hung up. 

“Ha! Busy already. Well, I must be going,” 
said Uncle John. 

I helped him get the loose horses strung out on 
the trail, and cheerfully enough answered his good- 
bye. But the moment that the dwarf spruces hid 
him from view, my little cabin clearing seemed not 
to be so sunny and pleasant. “Now, you are alone, 
but you are not to feel lonely!” I scolded myself, 
and returned to the cabin for my rifle, then took 
the steep trail winding up through scattering, 
wind-torn spruces to the summit of the mountain, 

19 


In the Great Apache Forest 

passing on the way drifts of snow of great depth, 
some of thirty feet and more. 

The rocky, bare summit of this mountain is 
about a quarter of a mile in length — running 
northwest and southeast, and in its center is a 
gentle depression, or saddle. At its southeast end 
is a round, sharp uplift of rock about fifty feet in 
height, upon which stands the lookout station. At 
the other end the mountain drops off abruptly, 
but at a somewhat lesser height. I went straight to 
the station, an eight-sided, eight-windowed, conical- 
roofed building just large enough to contain a cen- 
tral chart stand, a very small stove, and one chair, 
and unlocked the door and went in. Then, turning 
about and looking off to the north, I at once saw 
the forest fire, about fifteen miles away, near 
Conaro Lake. I got behind the chart stand — on 
the south side of it. A round copper plate a foot in 
diameter, and marked with the 360 degrees of a 
circle, is fastened upon it, and pivoted to its center 
is a threaded sight, just like the sight upon a sur- 
veyor’s level. I swung it around until I had it 


20 


Alone on Mount Thomas 

directly in line with the smoke of the fire. Due 
north on the copper plate is degree 360. The level’s 
arrow-point was on degree 10, 1 turned to the tele- 
phone, called the main office, and reported. The 
Green’s Peak lookout had reported the fire on 
degree 38. The Supervisor had but to get the cross- 
section of degrees 10 and 38, upon his map of the 
forest, and he had the exact location to which to 
send his fire patrols. I soon heard the telephone 
calling the Cienega Flat Fire Patrol Station, and 
listened in: “The fire is right at Sheep Springs. Go 
over, there as fast as you can,” I heard the Super- 
visor saying. The Springs are about a mile south of 
Conaro Lake. 

I was now free to return to my cabin, but I lin- 
gered there in the lookout for some time, looking 
down upon the world. Far to the north, across sev- 
eral hundred miles of the great, gray desert, I could 
see the cliffs of the Hopi Indians, and nearer, to 
the northeast, the Zuni Buttes. Eastward as far as 
I could see into New Mexico, a hundred miles and 
more, loomed up the grim, black-forested Mogol- 


21 


In the Great Apache Forest 

Ion Range. To the south, across a hundred miles of 
greener forest, the snaky outline of the Graham 
Mountains hid the hot country from me, else I 
could have looked down upon the deserts of Old 
Mexico, more than three hundred miles away. 
More to the west, the Sierra Anches Mountains 
prevented a view of the great Roosevelt Lake. But 
I had seen pictures of it, and its huge dam, and 
pictures, too, of the vast fields of grain, alfalfa, 
cotton, and groves of fruit trees dependent upon 
its waters. Some of our soldiers, I knew, were night 
and day guarding the dam from destruction by 
German spies. And we fireguards were here, perched 
upon the peaks of the range, to prevent fires devas- 
tating the great forest and drying up the stream 
feeders of that wonderful irrigation system. Right 
under me, on the east, headed a fork of Black River, 
and on the south and west two forks of White 
River, main feeders of the high-dammed lake. I 
said to myself that by no fault of mine should fires 
kill the forest that mothered their hundreds of 
springs. 


22 


Alone on Mount Thomas 

Fireguards before my time had told of finding 
some small turquoise, and black stone beads upon 
the sharp uplift that was capped by the lookout 
station. I went outside, and with the point of my 
knife began to scratch out the fine earth and gravel 
that the winds and rains had deposited in crevices 
in the rock, and in less than two minutes’ time 
found two black stone beads, one of them so small 
that I could take it up only with the point of my 
knife, and then feared to place it on a rock, lest I 
should be unable to find it again. I carried it into 
the lookout, and, measuring it on the chart stand, 
found that it was one sixteenth of an inch in diam- 
eter, and less than a thirty-second of an inch thick; 
the hole through it so small that it would not admit 
an ordinary pin. I became interested. I wondered 
why the beads had been left here by the Indians, 
and by what Indians? How long ago? And how 
could they possibly have fashioned them of such 
small size? I placed my finds in a Forest Service 
envelope, and went out to search for more of them. 
It was then about five o’clock, and I scratched and 

23 


In the Great Apache Forest 

dug about among the rocks as long as I had suffi- 
cient light. When, at last, I was forced to quit, I 
had collected two arrow-points, one of a glasslike 
substance, and one of red flint, and fifty-three 
beads of black, gray, red, and yellow stone, none 
of them a quarter of an inch in diameter, the aver- 
age running about an eighth of an inch. I was quite 
excited over my success. Here was something to 
keep me occupied day after day while I watched 
the great forest. By diligent search I thought that 
I might make some wonderful finds of old Indian 
handicraft. I hurried down the steep trail in the 
gathering night, and at the edge of the cabin clear- 
ing came to a sudden stop: I had glimpsed some- 
thing quickly slipping into the shadow of the 
spruces beyond the cabin, something that, dim 
though it was, had the shape of a man! 


CHAPTER II 
The Mountain Cave 

W AS I frightened at what I had glimpsed ? 

I was so badly scared that the beating of 
my heart seemed to be up in my throat and chok- 
ing me ! The shadowy thing I had seen was a man ! 
And no friend, else he would not have been sneak- 
ing away from my approach. And swiftly though 
he had gone, I had not heard the slightest sound 
of his footsteps. He must, then, be an Apache, I 
thought. One of those renegades who, despite the 
vigilance of the soldiers, now and then somehow 
get possession of a gun and cartridges and sneak 
off upon a war trail of their own. 

I did not know what to do. But after standing 
for a long time listening and staring about in the 
deepening night, I at last made a run for the cabin, 
got safely inside, and slammed shut the door and 
barred it. Then it suddenly dawned upon me that I 
must not light the lamp. I could curtain the win- 
2S 


In the Great Apache Forest 

dows with dishcloths, but there were all those 
yawning spaces between the logs that I could not 
cover, through which an enemy could see me and 
shoot me the instant that I struck a light. I sat 
upon the bunk and took off my shoes, and then, 
rifle in hand, stole from wall to wall of the cabin 
and stared out through the unchinked spaces ; and 
for all the good that did, might as well have stuck 
my head into a sack. The night was intensely dark; 
I could not even see the pile of split white-spruce 
stovewood less than ten feet from the south wall! 

But, presently, I heard something; like the cau- 
tious steps of some one to the east of the cabin. 
Just such sounds as I imagined moccasined feet 
would make upon the stony ground. They had 
been faint at first; they became fainter and soon 
ceased. I stood against the wall a long time. My 
legs began to tremble. I felt my way back to the 
bunk and sat upon it, again listening, open- 
mouthed, for those shuffling, soft, padding steps. 
I must have sat there for hours. I was hungry, but 
did not dare risk the noise I should make in open- 
26 


The Mountain Gave 

ing the iron food chest for a handful of crackers 
and some cheese. And how I wished that I was 
down home, safe in my bed ! This was iny first night 
away from my people ; and here I was, eleven miles 
from them, and in danger. How sorry I was for 
myself ! Several times I went sound asleep sitting 
straight up upon the bunk, and awoke with a start, 
and scolded myself, and said that I just would 
keep awake ! Then the next I knew dawn had come, 
and I was lying flat upon my back, my rifle tightly 
gripped with both hands. I sprang up and looked 
out of the windows, and through the wall spaces, 
and saw nothing to alarm me. The daylight itself 
was heartening. I slowly unbarred the door and 
stepped out upon the little porch. About twenty 
feet away a porcupine was descending a small 
spruce that he had partly denuded of its bark. 
When he left the trunk and waddled off down the 
slope, he made just the shuffling noise that I had 
heard in the night: ‘‘You are the Apache that was 
prowling around here, you scalper of trees!” I 
yelled to him, and the sound of my voice was good 
27 


In the Great Apache Forest 

in my ears. And seizing a stick I took after him and 
knocked him in the head. All Forest Service men 
are required to kill porcupines, for in the course of 
a year they do a great deal of damage to the forest. 

I went back to the cabin, built a fire in the little 
stove, and washed face and hands. Then, as I sliced 
some bacon, opened a can of corn, and made some 
biscuits, it suddenly came to me that, though the 
porcupine had probably made the noise I had heard 
in the night, he certainly was not the shadowy 
figure I had seen skurrying into the shelter of the 
spruces ! All my fears of the night were back in me 
with a rush. The temptation to seize my rifle and 
strike out on the run down the mountain for home 
was almost irresistible. Then I said to myself : “ I Ve 
just got to stay here! Fve got to stick to this job 
no matter what happens to me! My Uncle Cleve 
is n’t running from those terrible Huns in France, 
and I shall not run from a sneaking Apache!” 

I rushed my cooking and bolted my breakfast, 
for I had until nine o’clock to report from the look- 
out, up on top, and I was going to make those cabin 
28 


The Mountain Gave 

walls proof against the eyes of any prowlers of the 
night. I collected a number of lengths of small, 
dead spruces, quartered them, and drove them 
into the wall spaces from the inside. But fast though 
I worked, at eight-thirty I had chinked but three 
of the walls. I dropped the axe, seized my rifle, 
locked the cabin door, and hurried up the trail to 
the summit. 

As soon as I arrived at the lookout I swept the 
whole forest as far as I could see with the field- 
glasses that had been furnished me, and at nine 
o’clock reported in that no fire was to be seen from 
Mount Thomas. Then, for a time, I listened to 
other lookouts making similar reports, some of 
them away down in the Blue Range, at the south 
end of the forest. Happening, then, to look into 
the canyon of Black River, a half-mile or more 
almost straight down from me, I thought that I 
saw a faint haze of smoke. But even with the glasses 
I could not be sure that my eyes had not deceived 
me. The sun had not yet reached that part of the 
canyon and it was in deep shadow, made all the 
29 


In the Great Apache Forest 

darker by the heavy growth of spruce that shrouded 
its steep sides and bottom. I marked the particular 
spot in it, where I thought that I had seen the 
smoke, by a narrow strip of grassland that bor- 
dered the stream. Again and again in the course of 
the morning I looked down at the place, failed to 
see the least sign of smoke, and almost convinced 
myself that I had been mistaken in the first in- 
stance. I had heard our mountain men say that this 
canyon of Black River was the worst one in the 
whole range; that in their roundups it was the one 
place they passed, for it was so rough that neither 
cattle nor horses could ascend it. Since it was so 
inaccessible, and as there had been no electric storm 
to start a fire in it, I argued that if I had seen any- 
thing, it had been mist rising from the stream in 
the cool of the morning. 

In my haste to leave the cabin, I had neglected 
to bring a lunch. And now, when noon came, I was 
very hungry. By the rules of the Service, I was 
privileged to take an hour off — from twelve until 
one — for lunch. But hungry though I was, I just 

30 


The Mountain Cave 

would not go back to the cabin until I had to. That 
flitting figure I had glimpsed in the dusk haunted 
me. Up here on top I was perfectly safe: no one 
could come anywhere near my lookout station if I 
was minded to forbid his advance. 

I concluded to use my noon hour in exploring the 
whole length of the summit of my mountain, and 
set off along its crest, from which I could see well 
down both slopes. The one on the west side is bare 
for a long way down, but on the east side a few 
scattering groups of stunted spruces stand within 
a hundred yards of the top. Not a treelet of them 
has a limb nor even the stub of a limb upon the 
west side of its trunk, proving how fierce and con- 
stant are the west winds except in the three months 
of sunimer. 

All the way from the rough rock uplift at the 
southeast end of the mountain, and well beyond 
its saddle, the footing is of coarsely decomposed 
rock; then, for the last several hundred yards to 
the northwest end of the summit, the formation is 
of slabs of rock of varying size. I was passing over 

31 


In the Great Apache Forest 

the first of these when I noticed, some fifty yards 
down to the west, a pile of the slabs in the shape of 
a half-circle — bowing from me — and several feet 
in height. I knew at once that man, not an earth- 
quake, had made that pile, and hurried down to it. 
I nearly fell into a deep, narrow rift in the rock, 
from around which the slabs forming the half-circle 
had been heaved, and by Indians, in the long ago, 
as was proved by quantities of broken, brightly 
painted pottery scattered all around the place. The 
length of the fault in the rock, about six feet, is 
with that of the mountain, northwest and south- 
east, and about four feet wide down for about ten 
feet to a projection from the west side. From it the 
fault, too narrow to admit the body of a man, goes 
on down into intense blackness. 

I was sure excited over my find. ^'My own find! 
My own cave hole!’’ I said, over and over, for I 
well knew all the men who had been fireguards 
upon the mountain, and though all had told of 
finding beads and broken pottery around the look- 
out, not one of them had even mentioned this 

32 


The Mountain Cave 

place. I knelt at the edge of the northwest side of 
the hole and looked down into it, and saw that at 
ten feet down there was a black hole in the wall 
opposite me, apparently large enough to admit the 
body of a man. It might be, I thought, the passage- 
way into a large cave in the mountain, in which 
had lived the people whose broken pottery was 
scattered all around me. And if that were so, what 
might I not find in the cave! Beautiful pottery; 
weapons; clothing, of course. Perhaps gold and 
silver, too! How I wished that I had a rope and a 
light of some kind. I could then explore that pas- 
sageway. 

My hour was about up, but I got upon my knees, 
a few feet down the slope from the hole, and soon 
found eleven beads in the crevices of the rock, one 
of them a turquoise bead almost a quarter of an 
inch in diameter. I hurried back to the lookout and, 
calling Springerville, reported that I could not see 
a fire anywhere in the forest. 

I went outside and began to look for more beads, 
and in the very first little crevice that I scratched 
33 


In the Great Apache Forest 

out, found seven. From the next crevice, no more 
than a foot long and a couple of inches wide, I got 
nine beads and a white flint arrow-point. At that 
rate I estimated that there must be thousands and 
thousands of beads and many arrow-points in the 
crevices of the little rock butte, at its base no more 
than a hundred feet in diameter. And why were 
they there, and around my cave hole, in such pro- 
fusion, and apparently nowhere else upon the 
mountain, I wondered. Had there been a great 
battle between different tribes — the victors scat- 
tering to the winds the belongings of those they 
killed? No, that was not reasonable. The victors 
would have gone off with every necklace and every 
arrow-point of those they killed. The mystery of it 
was more than I could solve. I said to myself that 
I would cease puzzling about it, but I could not 
get it out of my mind. And that hole off there in 
the mountain — I just had to go into it! If I could 
only call my people on the telephone and ask that 
Uncle John bring me a rope. But there was little 
chance of my calling them; the Forest Service was 
34 


The Mountain Cave 

so short of men that this summer there was no 
ranger at Riverside Station, a half-mile north of 
my home. I might ring Riverside for days and get 
no answer, unless one of the fire patrols happened 
in there. 

In the middle of the afternoon, while I was still 
scratching out beads — by that time I had more 
than a hundred — the telephone rang for me and 
I hurried inside and took down the receiver: 
^^Hello!” I said. 

“Hello! Is that you, George? Are you all right 
up there?” came my sister Hannah’s voice, and, 
oh, how glad I was to hear it. 

“All right,” I answered. “ But how did you get to 
the telephone ? Is there a new ranger at Riverside ? ” 

“No. I climbed in through the window. Mother 
and I were worrying about you; we just had to 
know how you are getting on, all alone up there. 
Tell us all about it!” 

I considered a moment before replying. Should 
I tell them about the sneaking figure I had seen 
near the cabin? No. I would keep my troubles to 
3S 


In the Great Apache Forest 

myself. I answered that I was more than all right, 
and sure excited over some finds I had made. And 
went on to tell about the beads I had found, the 
cave hole I had discovered, and how much I 
wanted a rope and candles, so that I could go into 
it. And at that Hannah became excited, and asked 
a lot of questions about the cave, just where it was 
located, and its appearance. And at last she said 
that I should have the things I wanted ; she would 
bring them up and help me explore the place. I 
could look for her at noon the next day. And when 
she said that, I knew that I would have the rope 
and candles. Hannah is a girl that always does 
as she promises. Although two years younger 
than I, she can ride as well as the best of us, and 
of ‘"sand” she has aplenty. 

I was happy enough the rest of the afternoon, 
thinking of what I might find in the cave, and at 
six o’clock I rang in, reported no fires, and started 
for the cabin. As I neared it all my uneasiness 
came back to me. I left the trail and sneaked on 
down through the spruces and around to the north 

36 


The Mountain Cave 

side of the little clearing and looked out. A moose 
bird was hopping about before the cabin porch 
and a chipmunk was sitting upon the peak of the 
roof, eating something that it held in its little 
paws. They gave me the feeling that all was well 
there. I crossed the clearing, unlocked the door, 
and went in, and looked around. Everything was 
apparently as I had left it. I took my bucket and 
went down to the spring for water, and then 
finished chinking the cabin walls. There were 
still places — where the chinking did not fit well 
against the logs — that were open, but when I 
daubed the outside of the cracks with mud, all 
would be tightly closed. I dug a hole in the ground, 
filled it with earth that I found near the spring, 
poured in some water and worked it to a sticky 
mass, and slammed handful after handful of it into 
the spaces in the south wall, and completely 
finished that side, and still had time to cook my 
supper before nightfall. I did not intend to use a 
light in the cabin until its walls were proof against 
the eyes of any prowlers of the night. 

37 


In the Great Apache Forest 

I washed, and built a fire in the stove, consider- 
ing what I should have for supper. A slice of ham, 
boiled potatoes, bread and butter and jam, I con- 
cluded, and opened the food chest, and tossed 
sacks and packages about: my big, uncut ham 
was n’t there! Had n’t I seen it in the chest that 
morning — or anyhow the evening before.^ I was 
almost sure that I had seen it that morning; or 
when Uncle John had unloaded the grub outfit 
and brought it in. I believed that I had seen it in 
the chest some time or other, but could not be 
sure. Maybe it had been overlooked when we were 
packing my outfit, at home. I just hated to think 
that the ham had been in the chest and had been 
stolen from me. All day long I had tried to con- 
vince myself that I had not seen a shadowy figure 
of a man sneaking away from me into the spruces. 
But now — The door had always been locked 
during my absence. I went to the front window: 
it was well nailed down. I ran to the other one, 
and raised the lower sash with ease ! The ham could 
have been stolen from me! All of my fears of the 
38 


The Mountain Cave 

night before came back with a rush. I did n’t take 
time to cook potatoes. I barred the door, hastily 
fried a couple of slices of bacon, and ate them with 
the cold biscuit that were left from my morning 
meal, and went to bed with my rifle beside me. 
I wondered if any Boy Scout in all our United 
States was having as fearsome and lonely a time 
as I, fireguarding there on Mount Thomas, eleven 
miles from my nearest neighbor? 

‘Tf there is such a one, he has got to show 
me!” I said, and for all my uneasiness, fell asleep. 
And with a start soon awoke, listened, heard noth- 
ing more than some mice scampering across the 
floor and upon the table, and slept again. At the 
first sign of dawn I hurried into my clothes, 
washed, and cooked my breakfast. I did n’t want 
to remain in that spruce-surrounded cabin a mo- 
ment longer than I could help 1 I wanted to be up 
on top, where I could see a long way in every di- 
rection. I was n’t long in going up there, and upon 
the trail found cause for more uneasiness; in a 
place where the path was wet and muddy from 
39 


In the Great Apache Forest 

melting snow above were the fresh tracks of a 
huge bear. Old Double Killer’s tracks, I was sure ! 
He had doubtless finished eating his deer carcass, 
and was prowling about in search of more meat. 
I thought about old man Lilly’s trouble, over 
in the Blue Range, with a bear of this size a few 
weeks back: without warning, the bear had come 
charging out at him from a thicket, and he had 
stood his ground and opened fire with his big 
Winchester, and with his last shot — the very 
last cartridge in his weapon — the bear had fallen 
dead at his feet. And what a bear it was; its hide 
had measured eleven feet in length and eight in 
width! 

I was sure that old Double Killer was as big 
as that Blue Range grizzly. With my little 30-30 
rifle, it was small chance that I would have 
for my life if he came charging me from these 
spruces. I legged it up the trail as fast as I could 
go, never once stopping until I reached the top 
of the mountain. From the saddle I looked down 
upon a bare ridge running west from the mountain, 
40 



HE WAS TURNING OVER ROCKS AND LICKING THE EXPOSED 

UNDER SURFACES 




.i<i: s ■ • ' . ^'■" it*w v- -‘^ -j 

JA -•■-' j- ‘ jt‘ •- ■ ’"Z-V' ‘^'1 -,J 

.^'A.‘\:i; ■ V, •*;>•, 4 *. ..■ 4 

♦. *w ■ f*’ • ^ A '/ftT ^*Tm 

vVvv ‘"C*" , ;» ''', ,‘;v' ;?,,/. ■ : ; ■•' ■■ - ;^ 


V.* 


K «ai 


. 4 ' »«’ 




The Mountain Cave 

and dividing two deep-canyoned, heavily timbered 
forks of White River, and there, on its crest, I saw 
Double Killer wandering about among the rocks. 
I ran up into the lookout, took up the field-glasses, 
and watched him. He was turning over rocks 
and licking the exposed under surfaces of some of 
them, licking off the ants that clung to them, of 
course, and I thought what small business that 
was for him, killer of big steers with one blow of 
his long-clawed paws! And then I thought that 
the ants were probably to him what candy is to 
us: not real food, but — a little of it — very good 
eating, all the same. He was all of a half-mile from 
me, too far for a shot at him. In a few minutes he 
wandered down the ridge and entered the heavy 
timber, no doubt to sleep during the day. 

It was so early when I arrived in the lookout 
that the west side of the mountains was still in 
deep shadow. I swept them and their valleys with 
my glasses and saw nowhere any signs of a fire. 
I then looked close down into the Black River 
Canyon, and, as on the previous morning, saw a 

41 


In the Great Apache Forest 

smokelike haze below the little grass park border- 
ing the stream. It was so faint, however, that I 
could not be sure it was smoke. I said that it 
could n’t be smoke; nor fog from the water: that 
what I saw was a patch of the bright light of the 
early morning, let into the dark canyon through a 
gap in the high ridge on the east. 

I went outside, began scratching out more rock 
crevices, and almost at once found two arrow- 
points, a large one of flint and barbed, and a very 
small one, without barbs, of the glasslike rock, 
and so clear that I could see through it. Of the 
two, the barbed one appeared to be the most 
effective point, yet how much more deadly was 
the other; how very much farther it would pene- 
trate flesh. I wondered if its owner had ever shot 
it into an enemy? 

At nine o’clock I went in to the telephone and 
reported no fire anywhere in sight. And then I 
called Riverside Station, on the mere chance that 
a fire patrol might be there, and got no answer 
except the roar of the Supervisor’s voice, shout- 
42 


The Mountain Cave 

ing: “Get off the line there, whoever you are! 
Don’t you know that there is no one at Riverside ? 
You quit interrupting Service business!” 

I quit! I had wanted to get word to Hannah 
not to come up. Since discovering the loss of my 
ham, I had been thinking that I ought not to let 
her run the risk in coming up that eleven-mile 
lonely trail. If there were bad men in this part 
of the forest, it was no place for her to be riding. 
I tried to comfort myself with the thought that 
the ham had probably been left at home, but down 
in my inmost mind I almost knew that I had seen 
it in the food chest. No doubt she was now on her 
way to me, and if she met with no mishap, would 
arrive at my cabin at about twelve o’clock. Well, 
I should be there at that time, and at one o’clock, 
if she failed to appear, fires or no fires, I should 
have to go down the trail to look for her. And if 
she did come all right at noon, I decided that, 
when I went off duty in the evening, I should spend 
the night in seeing her safely home and getting 
back to the cabin. I could ride back upon her 
43 


In the Great Apache Forest 

horse and turn him loose and he would go straight 
down to our herd. 

I kept on hunting for beads and arrow-points — 
and finding some — until my eyes began to ache, 
and then went into the lookout. The telephone rang 
one long, the call for the Supervisor’s office, and I 
listened in. Why not ? Forest Service business was 
my business. I wanted to know what was going on. 
And now, listening, I heard William Hammond, the 
owner of a small sawmill located on the Ocean-to- 
Ocean Highway, five miles west of my home, and 
almost at the northern edge of the forest, telling 
the Supervisor that he was having serious trouble 
with two of his men, strangers who had a week be- 
fore dropped in off the road and applied for work, 
and got it. They had proved to be I.W.W. agitators, 
and, failing to induce his regular employees to join 
the order, they had called for their wages, demand- 
ing three times the amount due them, and upon his 
refusal to pay it, had sworn that they would burn 
his mill and the whole Apache National Forest. 

‘‘Where are they now?” the Supervisor asked. 

44 


The Mountain Cave 

‘‘They shouldered their blanket rolls and went 
off up the road.” 

“Well, you just guard your mill, and if they show 
up, shoot, and shoot to kill. And I will order some 
of my patrols over to your place, and at the first 
outbreak of fire that way, they’ll be right on top 
of those I.W.W.’s!” 

I continued listening and heard the Supervisor 
ordering different patrols to move to the mill, ex- 
plaining why they were to go, and that they were 
to go well armed, and take no chances with the fire- 
bugs. 

Then the Supervisor called me: “George, there 
are two I.W.W. firebugs threatening to burn the 
forest — ” 

“Yes, I know, I Ve been listening,” I interrupted. 

“Well, I must ask you to spend more than the 
regular hours in your lookout until they are dis- 
posed of,” he went on. “I would like you to spend 
all your daylight hours there ; even your noon hour; 
and keep your eyes on the forest all the time, and 
especially that part of it around the mill.” 

45 


In the Great Apache Forest 

*‘Yes! FIl do so,” I answered, ‘‘but this noon I 
have to go down to the cabin to meet my sister, 
who is coming up with some things for me — ” I 
hesitated : Should I tell him about my own troubles, 
my suspicion that there were bad men in my vicin- 
ity, too? No. Not at this time, I concluded. 

“All right, meet your sister, and go back on top 
as soon as you can,” he replied, and hung up. 


CHAPTER III 
The Firebugs at Work 

M ore than ever, now, I wished that Hannah 
was not coming up. My new orders would 
prevent me taking her home, and just now the for- 
est was no place for a girl to travel alone. And what 
she was bringing me would be of no use for some 
time to come: until I got back my morning and 
evening hours, I could have no time for exploring 
my cave hole. 

At noon, as I descended the trail to the cabin, I 
had decided to send Hannah straight home as fast 
as her horse could carry her. But the moment I en- 
tered the clearing I knew that would be impossible: 
there she was, sitting upon the little porchj sur- 
rounded with sacks, ropes, and her roll of bedding, 
and a pack-saddle and riding-saddle upon the 
ground told that she had turned her horses down 
the trail. 

“How long have you been here ? ’’ I asked. 

47 


In the Great Apache Forest 

“Maybe an hour. Why? You don’t seem glad to 
see me.’’ 

And what I said to her shows where my mind 
was: ‘‘That big ham I was to bring up when we 
came — did Uncle John and I overlook it — is it 
down home?” 

“No. Of course it is n’t there. I packed it in your 
outfit myself. You have n’t lost it ?” 

“Worse than that! It has been stolen! Taken 
right out of the cabin ! These are bad times up here. 
I wish you had n’t come. I was going to send you 
right home, but now you can’t go: your horses are 
halfway home by this time !” 

“Ha! As though I would go back before seeing 
your cave!” she cried. 

“The cave! There ’s no time for it now!” I said, 
and went on to tell her all about the sneaking man 
I had seen, and all that the Supervisor had just 
told me. That sobered her. “And what is more,” 
I added, “old Double Killer is prowling about 
here, too. I saw him this morning. I can show 
you his tracks in the trail to the summit.” 

48 


The Firebugs at Work 

“It does look bad,” she said. “But here I am 
and here I stay. I guess I can stand it if you can. 
And you know that I can shoot ! ” She tapped the 
holster at her side, in which was thrust her 38 Colt 
automatic pistol. 

“Yes, you will have to stay until I can get word 
to Uncle John to come after you,” I said. I did n’t 
tell her how much I admired her courage. 

“Now, George, promise that you will not tele- 
phone them about this! Mind, if mother hears 
about this ham stealing, and about old Double 
Killer being up here, she will have you back home 
in a hurry, as well as me,” she begged. 

I had n’t thought of that, and I knew that she 
was right. Mother would have us out from here, too 
quick. 'And what shame then, for me. It would be 
said that I was afraid to stay and face the dangers. 
And me a Boy Scout ! 

“Well, we’ll see about it,” I answered. “But 
come. I must return to the lookout. Let ’s sling this 
stuff into the cabin and be upon our way.” 

We got the outfit inside, took some crackers and 
49 


In the Great Apache Forest 

cheese for a lunch, and a canteen of water, and at 
twenty minutes to one were entering the lookout. 
The telephone was ringing for me. I answered. 

‘‘Glad to know that you are back up there. No 
sign of fire the sawmill way, is there?’’ the Super- 
visor said. 

“No, nor elsewhere.” 

“Good. Well, keep your eyes peeled,” he an- 
swered, and rang off. 

“You see how it is: I have to be here every min- 
ute of the day from sunrise to sunset. There ’s no 
use talking about me exploring the cave,” I told 
Hannah. 

“Nonsense!” she exclaimed. “You can go into 
it while I stand watch in here. But first, I want to 
see the hole: show me where it is.” 

She was right. With her help I could have all the 
time that I wanted to go into it. But we had not 
brought up the rope and candles, and I did not like 
to leave the summit to go after them. I pointed the 
way to the cave. Down past a bend in the west 
slope, it was not in sight from the lookout, but I ex- 
50 


The Firebugs at Work 

plained that she could find it by the half-circle of 
rock slabs piled below the entrance, and she hurried 
off down along the summit. I watched her until she 
turned from it and went out of sight, and, taking up 
the field-glasses, discovered a sudden upburst of 
smoke away south in the Blue Range. I sighted it 
with the chart level, went to the telephone and re- 
ported : ‘‘ Fire on 182, away down in the Blue.” 

A few minutes later, I heard Honeymoon Mead- 
ows and Saddle Mountain lookouts giving their 
degree sightings of the fire ; and then the Supervisor 
ordering to it the patrols in that section of the forest. 

I took the glasses again, and stared down into 
Black River Canyon and the little grass park in it. 
No smoke was there nor any living, moving thing. 
I turned to the north : smoke was curling up from 
the forest due west of the sawmill. Yes, and also 
from a point a mile or more farther west: the 
I.W.W. firebugs had begun their destructive work. 
I sighted the two fires and quickly reported them, 
and kept the receiver to my ear. Green’s Peak re- 
ported them; the Supervisor ordered his C. C. 
SI 


In the Great Apache Forest 

Ranch and Cienega Flat patrols to a fire at Sheep 
Springs, and another a mile west of the Springs. He 
then conferred with the patrols at the sawmill, 
started them to the fires, and then Mr. Hammond, 
the mill-owner, said that he would send his men 
with them, and himself and wife guard their prop- 
erty, How I hoped that the I.W.W. men would be 
found and killed before they could do further dam- 
age to our forest ! It was bad enough to see the great 
trees burning from a fire started by lightning or by 
some careless traveler; but to see them destroyed — 
deliberately destroyed — by enemies of our coun- 
try was unbearable. I took up my rifle and said to 
it : ‘‘ Partner, how I would like to empty you into 
those two Hun helpers down there ! ” 

I was very uneasy; too worried to search for 
more beads. I went outside and walked around and 
around the lookout, stared now and then at the 
Sheep Springs fires, saw that the smoke from them 
was increasing instead of diminishing in volume. 
Well, the patrols had not had time to arrive there 
and begin fighting them. It was going to be a big 
52 


The Firebugs at Work 

fight, for a strong west wind was blowing. Hannah 
now came in sight, up on top from the cave hole, 
and ran toward me, stopping now and then to wave 
her hands to me and point to the fires, until, at last, 
she was near enough to hear me shout: “Yes. I see 
them. I have reported them!” 

She came up into the lookout, out of breath and 
almost crying: “Those awful I.W.W. men! They 
set those fires ! ” she gasped. 

“Sure they did! And will set more if the patrols 
don’t kill them,” I answered, and proceeded to tell 
her what was going on down there. 

“I can’t understand how men can be so bad!” 
she exclaimed. 

An hour passed. Two hours, and we saw that the 
smoke of the two fires was dying out. The patrols 
had them under control, would soon extinguish 
them. Anxiously we waited to listen in at the tele- 
phone, and learn if the two firebugs had been given 
what was due them. 

We began talking of other things. Of the cave, 
of course. Hannah thought that it was a wonderful 
S3 


In the Great Apache Forest 

find I had made ; that we might find some very won- 
derful things in it left there by the ancient people. 
A prospector who had once stopped a few days with 
us had told us about caves in Old Mexico in which 
had been found gold idols and dishes, along with 
pieces of beautiful pottery. Here, too, was pottery. 
Might we not also find gold with it in our cave ? The 
very thought of it was exciting. We knew a little, a 
very little, about those old pottery-makers. Five 
miles down the Little Colorado from our home we 
had seen the tumbled-down rock walls of their an- 
cient homes, with great quantities of broken pot- 
tery scattered about. There, too, could be traced 
the courses of their irrigating ditches; and upon the 
faces of some near-by rocks we had seen pictures 
that they had cut in. Pictures of men, animals, and 
of things which none of the settlers could under- 
stand. Some said that they were not Indians who 
had lived there, and evidently raised some kind of 
crops which they irrigated; that they must have 
been one of the lost tribes of Israel, gone long before 
the Indians came. Well, we talked and talked about 
S4 


The Firebugs at Work 

all that we had heard, and wondered if any of it was 
true, and planned just how we would go down into 
my cave and explore it. And so the afternoon wore 
on, and at five o’clock I informed the Supervisor 
that I could see no more smoke from the Sheep 
Springs fires, nor any fresh fires starting. 

‘‘Good. But you just stay where you are until 
nine o’clock. Remember, a whole lot depends upon 
you and Green’s Peak lookout. I don’t believe that 
the patrols have caught those firebugs, else they 
would have been ’phoning about it.” 

He was right. Not fifteen minutes after he hung 
up, we heard one of the patrols telephoning him 
that they had the fires completely out, but had 
been unable to find the men who had set them. 
We learned, too, that there was to be an all-night 
guarding of the mill, and that the deputy sheriff 
had started with a posse of men from Springerville 
in search of the two fire-setters. 

We had brought up but a light lunch at noon and 
were now very hungry. But that should n’t hap- 
pen again, we said. In the morning we would bring 
SS 


In the Great Apache Forest 

up a sackful of provisions and dishes and frying- 
pan, so that we could cook meals upon the lookout 
stove whenever we wanted to. 

The evening wore on, and at seven-thirty, by my 
time, there was the most beautiful sunset that we 
had ever seen. Then the darkness began to come 
up out of the deep canyons under us, and up and up 
the steep slopes of our mountain until, at about 
eight-twenty, we were in darkness in the lookout. 
Said Hannah then, with a little shiver: ^T don’t 
fancy going down to the cabin in this awful dark. 
With old Double Killer wandering about, and 
maybe worse than he, it will be no fun stumbling 
down the trail.” 

Neither did I fancy it, but I would n’t say so: 
“Pooh! We shall be safe enough going down; we 
shall just have to be careful not to stumble on the 
rocks and get a bad fall,” I told her, and stood up. 
And at once I saw the bright red glow of a small fire 
down in the Black River Canyon ! Right where I 
had twice thought that there was smoke! “Oh!” 
I gasped. 


56 


The Firebugs at Work 

“What?” Hannah cried, springing from the 
chair. 

“The ham-stealer! Look down into the canyon! 
See the fire!’’ 

She looked, and gave a little squeal of fright. 

“What shall we do ? ” she presently whispered. 

I had been watching the fire ; now and then it be- 
came suddenly obscured ; by some one passing in 
front of it, of course. “ It is a cooking fire, no doubt 
about that!” I said. “And whoever is down there 
has known my hours of duty as well as I do, and 
has never had a fire going when I have been up here. 
But on two mornings I have imagined that I saw a 
faint haze down there. Now I know that it really 
was smoke.” 

“Who can he be ? And why hiding down there ? ” 
Hannah wondered. 

[ “Maybe they, instead of he. Maybe a lot of 
white law-breakers or renegade Apaches in hiding 
down there. I’m going to report it,” I said, and 
rang the office, in Springerville, rang and rang, and 
got no answer. Then I tried to get Green’s Peak; 
57 


In the Great Apache Forest 

the sawmill; C. C. Ranch; the Indian Agency. 
None of them answered my call, and I knew that 
something had gone wrong with the telephone line. 
The firebugs, or other bad men infesting the forest, 
had probably cut it. Of course the telephone line 
men would be out to repair it as soon as possible, 
but in the meantime so many fires might be started 
that they never could be got under control. 

Said Hannah: ^‘This is terrible. I am not going 
down to that cabin, not if I starve! I would not 
sleep down there for all the mines of Arizona!” 

‘‘We just have to go to it, and I believe that we 
shall be safe enough. But we shall come right back, 
with our bedding. Then we’ll bring up the food, all 
of it, if we have to make four trips with it, and 
we ’ll make the lookout our little fort until this 
trouble is over,” I told her. 

She hesitated, and finally said: “The telephone 
line is cut, you can do no good here until it is re- 
paired, and the repairers will have to pass our home. 
Let us go down there. Let us start right now. Not 
by the trail, but down by the way of the West Fork. 

58 


The Firebugs at Work 

That will be best, George. Then, when the repair 
men come along, you can return here with them.” 

‘‘I promised the Supervisor that I would stick to 
this place during the season, and right here I stick 
just as long as I can,” I told her. “Come. We’ll be- 
gin bringing our outfit up here. We can do it safely 
enough. The ham-stealer is cooking his supper: he 
can’t be down there in the canyon and at the cabin 
at the same time.” 

“All right! Lead!” She cried, and without an- 
other word followed me from the lookout. I was 
proud of her, but did n’t tell her so. Not many girls, 
I ’ll bet, would have had the courage to follow me 
down that dark mountain-side, where old Double 
Killer’s tracks were almost fresh in the trail, and 
where, at the cabin, we might meet with worse 
than he ! 

We descended the trail as noiselessly as was pos- 
sible, but for all our care, we now and then dis- 
lodged rocks that rattled down the slope with a noise 
that seemed like thunder in our ears. We stood 
a long time at the edge of the clearing, looking, lis- 
59 


In the Great Apache Forest 

tening, then silently sneaked across it to the cabin, 
itself a black blur in the darkness. I unlocked the 
door and we went in: “We can’t pack up without a 
light,” I said, and put a match to the lamp on the 
table and stared about the place: everything was 
apparently as we had left it — no 1 some sugar was 
scattered upon the floor in front of the food chest 
I flung up the cover and we saw at once that some 
one had tumbled its contents about. The sugar sack 
was half emptied; some bacon had been taken; also 
a pound can of coffee ; a can of baking-powder ; some 
dried apples and part of the sack of salt. We stared 
at the walls and the floor of the cabin. I went to the 
windows; found them still nailed fast. And then 
we stared at one another: “Sister,” I said, “who 
ever the thief is, he has a Forest Service key ! ” 

She nodded. Her face was dead white in the 
lamplight; her eyes full of fear. “Let’s hurry!” she 
whispered. 

We sure did hurry ! With two sweeps of my arm I 
got the dishes, knives, forks, spoons, and things on 
the table into a sack, then rolled our bedding while 
6o 


The Firebugs at Work 

Hannah put the food in the chest into three large 
sacks and the cooking-vessels into another sack. 
Then, in three trips, we got everything but one roll 
of bedding well up the trail beyond the clearing. I 
went back for it, and put out the light and locked 
the door. But we could not carry all that stuff up 
the terribly steep trail to the summit in three or 
four trips : seven times we went up it with our loads, 
puffing, sweating, straining every muscle of our 
bodies ; and when, at last, we got everything up to 
the lookout, our strength suddenly went from us ; 
we sank down upon the rocks outside, and Hannah 
almost at once fell sound asleep. 

The fire in the canyon had gone out. I looked 
at my watch: twelve o’clock and past. When I had 
rested somewhat, I got a pailful of snow from a 
near bank, set it on the little stove in the lookout 
and built a fire. How glad I was that there was 
plenty of snow; we should have to depend upon it 
for all the water we used. As soon as the fire was 
going well, I opened our bed rolls and with blankets 
and quilts completely shaded the windows of the 
6i 


In the Great Apache Forest 

lookout. I then lighted a candle, got Hannah in- 
side, and prepared a good meal. I had to waken 
her again when it was ready. How we did eat ; never 
in our lives, we thought, had we been so hungry. 
And for the time we felt quite safe where we were. 
Not a ray of our light could be seen from the out- 
side of the lookout ; no one would think of looking 
for us there that night. 

‘‘That grub thief, how surprised he will be 
when he comes again to the cabin,” I laughed. 

“You needn’t laugh: he will be sneaking up 
here,” said Hannah. 

“He will; and I shall be watching for him,” I an- 
swered. “You are going to watch during the day 
while I sleep, and at night I’ll stand guard. I don’t 
care how dark it is, he can’t approach this little 
rock butte without me hearing him, and if he comes 
up right close I can see him and he will get what is 
due him!” 

I went for more snow, and when we had melted 
it and washed the dishes, we put out the light, took 
down the window coverings, and Hannah made her 
62 


The Firebugs at Work 

bed inside, and I crawled into my sleeping-bag out 
on the north side of the lookout, at the head of the 
trail. I fell asleep wondering what would happen on 
the morrow; if we should see the line repairers and 
learn that the fire-setters had been killed or cap- 
tured ? And most I wondered who it was that had a 
Forest Service key and had stolen my food.? The 
padlocks and door locks of the Service were of es- 
pecial make, all alike, and could be opened only 
with the keys that came with them. Had some 
discharged employee held out one of the keys and 
turned bad man? 

When we awoke, at dawn, a fire was again burn- 
ing down in the Black River Canyon, and without 
doubt more of my food was being cooked over it. 
I told Hannah that I believed I could sneak down 
there and see who the thief was, and get safely 
back. But at that she made a great outcry: she 
would not stay there alone in the lookout for a 
moment ; if I went down into the canyon she would 
go, too. 

The fire in the canyon went out so suddenly, at 

63 


In the Great Apache Forest 

sunrise, that we were sure it had been quenched with 
water. I swept the great forest with the glasses 
and was glad that there was not anywhere the least 
signs of a fire. We had our breakfast, washed the 
dishes, piled all our things close up against the look- 
out — there was n’t room for them inside — and 
then time hung heavy upon our hands. We had 
too many worries to continue gathering beads and 
arrow-points or to explore my cave hole. 

From the south side of the little rock butte upon 
which the lookout is perched, the mountain makes 
a long and very steep drop to a narrow, bare ridge 
running south and separating the forks of Black 
River and White River. We happened to be looking 
down upon it, soon after breakfast, and saw three 
large deer — all bucks, apparently — come tearing 
out of the timber upon its east slope, pause for a 
moment on top, looking back whence they had 
come, and then race on down into the timber of the 
west slope. 

"‘A mountain lion must have frightened them!” 
Hannah exclaimed. 


64 


The Firebugs at Work 

“More likely our grub thief; they came up from 
his canyon,” I told her, and turned my glasses that 
way just in time to see two big turkey gobblers 
come running up on the bare slope, spring into the 
air and sail off, down over the timber. Hannah saw 
them, too, although she had no glasses, and cried; 
‘‘Now we shall see what frightened the deer, and 
them!” 

But we did n’t, although we closely watched the 
place for a long time. And finally I said: “It was 
man that frightened the deer and turkeys; had it 
been a lion, it would have come out on their trail, a 
little way, anyhow. The chances are that right now 
that grub-stealer is there near the edge of the tim- 
ber, staring up at us !” 

And at that Hannah shivered. “How dreadful to 
think that one is being watched by the snake eyes 
of a robber — murderer, maybe ! I just can’t bear 
it!” She sprang up and went into the shelter of the 
lookout. I followed, and tried the telephone, got no 
answer to my calls, and went outside to watch 
again. 

6S 


In the Great Apache Forest 

The morning dragged on, oh, how slowly! We be- 
came so nervous that we could n’t sit still; we just 
milled around and around the lookout, staring 
down, and now and then trying the silent tele- 
phone. And then, near noon, we shouted and 
waved our hands, and Hannah danced, for there 
was Uncle John hurrying toward us in the trail 
up from the cabin. 

‘‘So! You’ve moved camp, I see!” he exclaimed, 
coming up on top and staring at our outfit pile 
against the lookout. “Well, how goes it? We went 
over to Riverside Station, found that the telephone 
was n’t working, and your mother got to worrying 
and sent me up to learn how you are ? ” 

“Oh, such a time we have had! Terrible!” Han- 
nah cried, and told him all our troubles, I putting 
in a word now and then. 

He looked very solemn when we had finished, 
asked some questions, and then said; “I guess 
your camp robber is Henry King.” 

“Henry King!” we cried. Did n’t we know him 
— know of him! Wife-beater, lazy, drinking, gam- 
66 


The Firebugs at Work 

bling man who had drifted into Nutrioso — a 
settlement a few miles east of us — several years 
back, married Jennie Ames, and treated her so 
badly that she had left him ! 

‘‘Yes, Henry King!” Uncle John went on. “He 
enlisted and was sent to Camp Kearny, and about 
a month ago deserted. Well, at daylight, about ten 
days ago, his nearest neighbor there in Nutrioso, 
old Mr. Jacobs, saw him sneaking away from his 
cabin with his rifle and a pack on his back — ” 

“And he was once a fireguard — Ull bet he kept 
a Forest Service key, and claimed that he lost it,” 
I said. 

“No doubt. He would do that all right. Well, 
we’ll just go down in the canyon and get Mr. King, 
and give the fifty dollars reward for him to the Red 
Cross,” said Uncle John. 

“But he will fight! You will be killed!” Hannah 
cried. 


CHAPTER IV 
Hunting the Deserter 

N O. We’ll get the drop on him!” Uncle John 
told her, grimly. 

‘‘You said ‘we.’ Do you mean that I can go with 
you.f*” I asked. 

“ Sure you can go. I may need you to help herd 
him. Hannah can fireguard for you while we are 
gone,” he answered. 

“Oh, no! No! I would n’t stay here alone for all 
the world !” sister cried. 

“Then you will come with us. The telephone 
is n’t working; you can’t do any good here if a fire 
does break out. Let’s have some lunch and be off,” 
Uncle John told her. 

Hannah made no answer to that. She looked 
scared as she turned from us to start a fire in the 
stove. 

Of course I asked Uncle John about the firebugs, 
but he knew no more about them than I, and 
doubted that they had been found. I told him, 
68 


Hunting the Deserter 

then, about my find of the cave hole, and about 
seeing old Double Killer. And then we had lunch 
and planned how we should go after the deserter. 
We were to sneak down through the timber and 
strike the bottom of the canyon at a point below 
the little grass park, where I had seen the camp- 
fires, and then cautiously, step by step, move up 
and make our capture. 

‘‘Afraid?’’ Uncle John asked Hannah, when she 
had washed the lunch dishes. 

“Yes, scared, but going with you, all the same!” 
she answered. 

We took up our rifles and Hannah belted on her 
pistol, and we started down the trail to the cabin, 
where Uncle John’s horse was tied and restlessly 
pawing the ground ; and from there we turned off 
along the divide, followed it for four or five hun- 
dred yards, and began the descent into the canyon. 
The going was good under the spruces for some dis- 
tance, and then we began having trouble to find 
a way past a series of small cliffs; there we had to 
be very careful where we stepped, lest we dislodge 
69 


In the Great Apache Forest 

rocks to go crashing down and give the camper 
warning of our approach. When, at last, we arrived 
at the bottom of the canyon, we found that it was 
very narrow and full of boulders — some of them 
as large as a house — with only a few clumps of 
willows here and there along the stream. The grass 
park that we were heading for is on the south side 
of the stream, so we crossed and turned up toward 
it, and almost at once came into a well-used game 
trail running parallel with the creek, and about 
fifty yards above it. We had not followed it far 
when Uncle John, in the lead, paused and pointed 
at a muddy place in it : there, half obliterated by 
the hooves of passing deer, were the footprints of a 
man who had gone up the trail. 

‘‘Days old. Wore broad shoes. Army shape,” he 
whispered to us as we bent over the tracks. “I 
guess we get Mr. Deserter, poco pronto 
“But he will fight!” said Hannah. 

“Wife-beaters generally don’t fight! However, 
maybe you’d better keep well behind us from here 
on,” he told her. 


70 


Hunting the Deserter 

Hannah said no more. We started on, but instead 
of dropping back she kept close behind me. Uncle 
John, looking over his shoulder, motioned her to 
slow up. She shook her head so determinedly that 
her two hair braids flopped straight out, and were 
so funny — her face red, her eyes snapping, that 
we put hand to mouth and laughed. 

All the same, this was no laughing matter. Why 
should n’t the deserter fight when he well knew that, 
if he was captured, he would go to jail for years and 
years ? I was bound to face whatever was to happen, 
ahead there on the trail, but, oh, how I wished that 
Henry King had never come into our part of the 
mountains ! 

Moving on silently in the beaten trail, and more 
and more slowly, we at last sighted the open grass 
park, and then stood a long time looking out at it, 
and searching the timber bordering it for our man. 
On our right some dead wood had been broken up 
and carried away, and a young spruce stripped of 
its branches — for a bed, of course, but of him 
there was no sign. ‘‘You two stand right here, while 

71 


In the Great Apache Forest 

I circle around a bit,” Uncle John told us, and 
turned straight off to the left and was soon out of 
our sight. Hannah then came up beside me, pistol 
in hand, and we waited fearfully, hardly breathing, 
for whatever was to happen: waited for hours, it 
seemed, and at last heard Uncle John shout: 
‘"Come on! Come ahead, youngsters, the bird has 
flown!” 

I uncocked my rifle. Hannah slipped her pistol 
back into its holster. All my excitement went with 
Uncle John’s call. I felt suddenly tired. We went to 
the edge of the little opening, to Uncle John poking 
about under a thick branching spruce. “There’s 
where the sneak slept,” he said, pointing to a thick- 
laid bed of spruce branches. “And he has quilts: 
there ’s a wad of cotton from one of them ; and over 
there close to the creek is his fireplace.” 

We went to it, within a few feet of the creek, and 
found around it the end of a ham bone, several 
empty cans, and a pair of tattered socks. The ashes 
of the fireplace and several half-burned sticks in it 
were water-soaked. 


72 


Hunting the Deserter 

“Yes, the bird sure has flown!’’ Uncle John re- 
peated. 

“It was he who frightened the deer and turkeys! 
He has gone west 1 Over on the other slope ! But we 
did n’t see him cross the bare ridgetop — ” 

“What is all this? Explain,” Uncle John inter- 
rupted. And when I had told him all about it, he 
said : “ Sure it was he who scared them ; but he never 
crossed the ridge, there in the open: he crossed far- 
ther south, where it is well timbered. Come. I ’ll bet 
we can find his tracks going up the canyon.” 

We did find them, almost at once, on the other 
side of the grass park and going up the canyon, and 
wondered why he had left this place, where he could 
live comfortably upon his stealings from me, and 
for what place he was heading? 

“Why, that is easily explained,’^ said Hannah. 
“ He came up on top last night, found that we had 
moved all our food up to the lookout, and knew 
that his stealing had been discovered and it was 
time for him to go.” 

“He will not starve; he will rob the cattlemen’s 


73 


In the Great Apache Forest 

camps, over on the Reservation, of everything he 
needs. You must ’phone over there about him as 
soon as the line is working. Well, back we go! Gee! 
I ’m mad ! Your Uncle Cleve and all the others, over 
there doing their best against the Huns, and this 
low-down coward sneaking about here in the forest, 
feeding his worthless carcass with our good grub ! 
Well, maybe we’ll get him yet!” Uncle John ex- 
claimed. 

We had no more than arrived at the cabin and 
sat down to get our breath after the long climb, 
when the two telephone linemen came in sight 
down the trail, and I asked Uncle John to say 
nothing to them, nor others, about my cave find. 
I wanted it all to myself. 

“Well, boy,” one of them said to me, as they 
dismounted, “you can ring up the office now; the 
line’s working. We found the break not three 
hundred yards below here. Not a break, either: 
the wire had been cut ! Cut with a couple of rocks, 
it appeared like ! Now, who in thunder could have 
done that?” 


74 


Hunting the Deserter 

Henry King! Deserter! Grub thief!” we cried. 

Uncle John began explaining about him, and 
I went in to the telephone and did the like to the 
Supervisor, in Springerville, who said that he 
would ask the Indian agent on the Reservation 
to order his Apache police out in search for King. 
Neither the police nor the sheriff’s posse on our 
side had been able to find the I.W.W. firebugs, 
and it was hoped that they had left the country. 
However, I was to remain at the lookout from 
sunrise to sunset until further orders. 

Uncle John was in a hurry to go home and in- 
sisted that Hannah return with him. But, first, 
he and the linemen brought my things at the look- 
out back to the cabin, packing them down on their 
horses in one trip. Hannah left her bed roll with 
me. She would soon be up to help me explore the 
cave, she said. 

So, at about four o’clock, I was again alone on 
the summit of Mount Thomas. And lonely enough 
I was. More lonely still when I went down to the 
cabin in the dusk, cooked and hurriedly ate my 
75 


In the Great Apache Forest 

supper, and tumbled into bed. And thought about 
Henry King. Why had he cut the telephone wire? 
Was it that he intended to make one last grand 
raid upon our supplies, and wanted to make sure 
that we should have no chance to report him be- 
fore he could get well away from Mount Thomas ? 
Yes, that was probably the explanation. 

And there was all that wall chinking to be 
mudded — what time would I ever have to do 
that? 

At three-thirty, the next morning, I had my 
breakfast, and then, by the light of a small fire that 
I built outside, I mixed mud and slammed it into 
the spaces, smoothed it with a strip of box cover 
and soon after dawn completed the task. I washed 
the mud off my hands, washed the breakfast dishes, 
prepared a lunch, took up my rifle, and, locking 
the door behind me, hurried up the trail to the 
lookout. The sun was just rising. A heavy bank of 
clouds was low in the southern sky. I looked out 
upon the great forest: nowhere was there even a 
wisp of smoke. Five mule deer were slowly feeding 
76 


Hunting the Deserter 

down the bare ridge between the White River 
forks. I watched them with the glasses until they 
entered the heavy timber that clothes all but the 
upper end of the ridge. The bucks had funny stubs 
of growing antlers; not until September would 
they get their full growth of branching prongs. 

The belt of black clouds kept creeping up from 
the south, and at eight o’clock the first electric 
storm of the season struck Mount Thomas. With 
the first boom of it I was out of the lookout and 
running down the trail to the cabin. Terrible 
thunder crashed and echoed down into the deep 
canyons, and the whole summit of the moun- 
tain was one glare of lightning; blinding, zigzag 
lightning that struck the rocks time and again and 
tore them apart. Capped with a four-prong 
lightning rod though it was, I felt sure that the 
lookout would be destroyed. Only little rain came 
with the storm, but I was shivering with cold when 
I got into the cabin and built a fire in the stove. 

At nine o’clock I ’phoned the office, reported 
the storm, and was told to return to the lookout 
77 


In the Great Apache Forest 

as soon as it ceased, for the lightning had probably 
started some fires. Now and then the rain beat 
upon the iron roof of the cabin with a deafening 
noise, but upon opening the door and looking out, 
I saw that the showers were but slight, wind- 
driven drizzles, not heavy enough to wet the 
ground. I returned to the summit in the last of 
them, the thunder and lightning having ceased, 
and upon emerging from the spruces, saw that the 
lookout had survived the storm. For seven years 
it had stood there, beaten by the fierce winter 
winds, shaken by the thunderstorms of summer, 
and though lightning had several times come into 
it along the wire and smashed the telephone, it 
had never been directly struck. I hurried up into 
it, looked north, south, east, and west, and dis- 
covered the smoke of three fires: one away down 
in the Blue Range, and two on the Indian reserva- 
tion, in the direction of Fort Apache. I reported 
them. 

For eight days I kept those sunrise to sunset 
hours upon the summit, and during that time no 

78 


Hunting the Deserter 

one came near me, nor had I to report any new 
fires. I spent some time each day collecting beads 
and arrow-points close around the lookout, but 
did not once visit my cave hole. My mother and 
sister called me up from Riverside Station — still 
without a ranger — to learn how I was standing 
my lonely watch and long hours. I frequently lis- 
tened in at the telephone and heard bits of news 
about the war, I.W.W. troubles at Globe and 
other mining camps, and the doings of the men 
in the Forest Service. Many of these men had 
girls in the different mountain settlements, and 
after hours would talk with them over the ’phone. 
And such silliness they talked. It was sickening. 

“Hello; that you, Laura? That you?” Bill 
would say. 

“Yes, it’s me. How you getting along. Bill?” 

“All right. How you getting along?” 

“All right.” 

A long pause. Bill trying to think of something 
to say. And then: 

“Say, Laura, what you going to do Sunday?” 
79 


In the Great Apache Forest 

^‘Nothing. What you going to do?’’ 

Nothing.” Both titter, and I wonder what 
there is in that to laugh about? Another long 
pause, and Bill says: 

‘‘You ain’t going to do anything Sunday, 
Laura?” 

‘‘No. Wish’t I was.” 

“Wish’t I was, too.” And both laugh again. 

“Well, I guess I got to go take care of my horse. 
Good-bye.” 

“Good-bye, Bill.” 

And then says some one listening in: “Oh, 
good-bye. Bill, dear, sweet Bill!” 

On the eighth day, Saturday, of my sixteen- 
hour watches, the Supervisor telephoned me that 
the I.W.W. firebugs had evidently left the forest, 
so I could resume my usual hours in the lookout. 
That meant that I could leave the lookout at 
four o’clock, sun time, and so have four hours of 
daylight for exploring my cave find. I called 
Riverside Station, hoping that some one would 
be there to take word to my sister that I wanted 
8o 


Hunting the Deserter 

her to come up, but got no answer. The next 
morning, however, my mother went to the station 
and called me, to learn if I was safe and well, and 
after a lot of persuading, I got her to consent to 
Hannah spending a few days with ^ me. A little 
later in the day, Hannah came to the ’phone and 
asked if I had been down into the cave hole? 

^‘Have n’t been near it since you were here,” 
I answered. 

‘‘Good! Promise that you will keep away from 
it until I come. You promise. Then I’ll be with 
you to-morrow afternoon.” 

What with the big food chest, the stove, table, 
stools, and all, there was no space in the little 
cabin for a second bunk, nor a bed upon the floor, 
so, after quitting time that evening, I made a 
sleeping-place for myself out on the south side of 
the cabin: a pole bunk with a foot of springy 
spruce boughs in it, and a canvas pack cover for a 
roof. Hannah could have the cabin all to herself 
during the nights. With old Double Killer prowling 
around upon the mountain, and maybe worse than 
8i 


In the Great Apache Forest 

he, I just did n’t want to sleep out there. When 
bedtime came, and I stepped out for a last look 
around, the very thought of sleeping outside of 
my four well-chinked walls made me shiver. 
That made me plumb mad at myself. Did n’t 
Uncle John and all our other mountain men 
often sleep out, with ndver a thought that harm 
could come to them? Sure they did, and I would, 
too. I brought my bedding out and spread it upon 
my bough mattress, and got under the covers 
with my rifle at my side. I found then that I had 
made my canvas roof too low: it prevented me 
seeing anything more than ten feet off. I got up 
and raised it, and lay down again. That was better. 
I could see all of the little clearing in three direc- 
tions ; the cabin, of course, shut off the north side 
of it. There was now a good moon; it enabled me 
to see even into some of the shadows cast by the 
spruces. I sat up, aimed my rifle at a stump sticking 
up in the east end of the clearing, and could see it 
quite well through the sights; was sure that I 
could put a bullet into it. Sleeping out was n’t so 
82 


Hunting the Deserter 

bad, after all. I lay back upon my pillow, intending 
to watch the clearing for a time and learn if any 
night prowlers were about — and the first thing 
I knew it was morning! I had slept well; better 
than in the cabin. I sprang up and began my daily 
round of tasks, glad that Hannah would soon be 
with me to explore my cave find. 

I had a hurried breakfast, put everything in the 
cabin in good order, and started up the trail to the 
lookout. When halfway there, I came upon the 
tracks of a bear that had passed down the trail 
during the night. Not old Double Killer, but a 
bear of good size — a grizzly, as I could tell by 
the imprint of his long claws in the soft earth. 
And staring down at them, maybe I shivered a 
a bit. If he had come nosing around under my bunk 
what would have happened ? Try as I would to for- 
get it, that unpleasant thought was with me, on 
and off, all day. 

From the lookout I could see no fire anywhere, 
but shortly after I had made my nine o’clock re- 
port, I heard Green’s Teak lookout ’phone the 

83 


In the Great Apache Forest 

officer about two fires to the west of him, and a 
half-hour later he reported a third fire, still far- 
ther west. Then, still listening in, I heard him and 
the Supervisor agree that the LW.W. firebugs 
were probably the cause of them. My call rang. 
I was asked to try to find the fires, give a chart 
reading of them. I replied that I could see no 
smoke in that direction; that Green’s Peak and 
the high ridge south of it were the limit of my 
view of the forest to the west. Listening in again, 
I heard the Supervisor order out the various patrols 
to fight the fires, and tell them that he would 
again get a sheriff’s posse to try to help them locate 
the fire-setters. All this made me feel very blue. I 
could not understand why some men were so mean ! 

When I went down to the cabin, at noon, there 
was Hannah, and old Mr. Ames, who had brought 
her up on his way to his summer cattle range down 
on Blue River. He had lunch with us, and got 
very angry when I told him about the new forest 
fires. ‘H’ll tell you what is what,” he said. ‘‘Our 
forefathers fought and bled for this great country, 
84 


Hunting the Deserter 

and now we are fighting for it again. And sooner 
or later, we here at home have just got to get to- 
gether and wipe out the I.W.W., and other Hun 
helpers!’’ 

Hannah and I helped him get his pack-horses 
onto the trail, and he turned back down the 
mountain, still talking about the firebugs. We 
then went up to the lookout, taking with us a 
/ candle and a rope, and on the way I cut a number 
of two-foot lengths of stout spruce boughs, and a 
pole of about six feet. During the afternoon I made 
a rope ladder of these, first cutting the long rope 
in its center, and tying the lengths to the pole, 
about a foot apart. Then came, at last, five o’clock 
— by sun time four o’clock, and taking a last 
look over the forest for fires, and glad that we had 
none to report, we hurried down along the summit 
to the cave. 

I had planned just how we were to get down 
into the cave hole, and back up. I let the ladder 
down until it touched the projecting ledge, and 
had about six feet of it to spare, the end tied to 
8S 


In the Great Apache Forest 

the pole. This I laid upon the slope straight back 
frorn the edge, and weighted with slab after slab 
of rock from the half-circle pile, most of the weight 
resting upon the end pole. Not even our combined 
weight, I well knew, could pull the ladder end 
from under the pile. Hannah went down first, and 
I was soon beside her upon the rock ledge. Right 
at our feet, and for the whole length of the ledge, 
gaped the cleft, running straight down into dense 
blackness, down, perhaps, into the very heart of 
the great mountain, and in places covered over 
with rock slabs that had either fallen from above 
or — as appeared more likely — been laid upon 
it by the old-time people with the intent to con- 
ceal it. At our right, at the end of the ledge, the 
hole running on into the mountain was much 
larger than it had appeared to be from above ; large 
enough to .admit us, one at a time, upon hands and 
knees. Before going to it, we dropped several 
pieces of good-sized rock into the cleft; each one 
of them clattered down into the darkness for a 
considerable time, proving that the cleft was of 
86 



FOUND OUR WAY BLOCKED BY A LARGE THREE-CORNERED 

SLAB OF ROCK 






Hunting the Deserter 

great depth. Had any one ever gone down there, 
and lived to get safely back up into the light ? we 
wondered. 

I led along the ledge to the cave hole, Hannah 
closely following, and got down upon hands and 
knees, lit the candle, and looked in. The passage 
sloped downward at an angle of about twenty 
degrees. The floor was strewn with earth and rock 
bits; the walls were smooth-edged layers of rock 
of varying thickness up to about eight inches; 
the roof was uneven. 

'‘Can’t you go in?” Hannah asked, behind me. 

"Yes, we can crawl into the hole, as far as I can 
see,” I answered. 

"Well, lead on, then! I just can’t wait to see 
what is down there!” she exclaimed. 

We crept down in for about ten feet, and found 
our way blocked by a large, three-cornered slab 
of roof rock that, in falling, had wedged between 
the walls. I took hold of it, shook it, gave the can- 
dle to Hannah, and with both hands and all my 
strength failed to free it. In falling, it had cut into 

87 


In the Great Apache Forest 

projections of both walls, and there it would stick 
until I could get a crowbar and pry and batter it 
loose. Hannah all but cried when I told her that. I 
took the candle from her, and held it in over the 
top of the slab, and saw that, only a few feet ahead, 
the passage ran into a large chamber. I could see 
something like ten feet of its floor; beyond was 
black darkness. Upon the floor was a dim, dust- 
covered object that had the outline of a large, 
bottle-neck olla. Yes, I made out that it was an 
olla. I told Hannah what I saw and we sure were 
excited. Doubtless there were a number of ollas 
in the chamber, we said. And other things, too. 
Gold, maybe. Weapons and implements of the 
old-time people. In withdrawing the candle I 
glanced up at the roof and saw the three-cornered 
place from which the slab had fallen. It was white, 
almost, compared with the rest of the dark, time- 
stained roof. The slab had but recently fallen. What 
was recent, in this underground place? I wondered. 
Perhaps that bright place would not become the 
color of the rest of the roof in a thousand years! 


CHAPTER V 
The People-of-Peace 
GAIN I handed Hannah the candle, and 



•L shook the rock slab; lay down and kicked 
it, and could not budge it. ‘‘Lead out. We can 
never move it without a crowbar,” I said. 

We were about halfway back to the entrance 
of the passage when Hannah paused, sat up, and 
from a projection of the wall close up under the 
roof secured a handful of sticks averaging about 
six inches in length and a half-inch in diameter, 
and we saw at once, by the dim light of the candle, 
that they were not just sticks, the pilings of a rat 
nest: all were notched in at one end, and several 
had carved ends, and to the head of one of them a 
few downy, tiny feathers adhered, as though stuck 
on with glue. We found a few more of the sticks at 
the back of the little shelf — eighteen in all, and 
then noticed that the floor was covered with the 
dust of similar sticks that had rotted, except here 


89 


In the Great Apache Forest 

and there an end, and they crumbled into gray 
powder between our fingers. We went on with our 
finds, out upon the ledge, and up the ladder. 
We then saw that the sticks had been banded with 
paint, some with three colors: white at the top or 
carved end, blue in the center, and then black. 
Others had bands of one color; still others just a 
band of black at the lower end. We sat there upon 
the rocks a long time, examining them, wondering 
for what purpose they had been made. At last 
Hannah insisted that they had been children’s 
toys; dolls, or pieces for some kind of a game. 
Somehow I did not think that explained them. 
The sun was now near setting. We put our rock 
ladder weights back on the pile below, and took 
ladder and sticks down to the cabin. No trace 
was left, there on top, of our descent into the cave 
hole. Days would elapse before we could get a 
crowbar up from home, and in the meantime we 
did not intend to give chance visitors a lead to our 
find. Every summer tourists came up on the 
mountain for a view of the great forest and the 
90 


The People-of-Peace 

desert stretching north from it. It was time for 
some to be coming, so we hid the ladder and the 
queer sticks under Hannah’s bunk. That would 
save us answering questions about them. 

The night passed without incident. I awoke at 
dawn, as usual, and looked up and down the clear- 
ing, stared into the spruce thickets; saw nothing 
but a couple of blue jays fighting a squirrel away 
from the tree in which they had their nests. I 
laughed at myself : I had gone to bed determined 
to watch a long time for the grizzly whose tracks 
I had seen, to watch for him on and off all through 
the night, and I had fallen asleep not five minutes 
after getting under the covers, and had not once 
awakened. I got up and dressed, called Hannah, 
and went to the spring. Sister objected to getting 
up so early, and I had to threaten her with a bucket 
of the icy water. I was anxious to go up on top and 
see if more fires had been started during the night. 

We were in the lookout before seven o’clock, 
and how glad we were when we failed to see smoke 
in any direction. I made my report to the office a 
91 ‘ 


In the Great Apache Forest 

few minutes before nine, and then, listening in, 
learned that the fires west of Green’s Peak had 
been put out. The patrol told the Supervisor, how- 
ever, that he was sure they had been started by 
firebugs, for each one was in very thick timber 
where it would have done great damage if a strong 
wind had come up. The patrols were worn out by 
their all-day and all-night work, and the Supervisor 
told them to sleep; that he would not call them 
until he had to, for the sheriff’s men and the Indian 
police were all out searching for the firebugs. He 
then called me, and said that I could leave the 
lookout at five o’clock, but wanted me to return 
to it for a few minutes, just before sunset, and 
make a last report. 

We put in most of the day looking for beads 
and collected nearly two hundred — and a few 
arrow-points — all close around the lookout. We 
had doubtless scraped out several hundred more 
that, in the mixture of dark earth and fine gravel, 
had escaped our eyes. It was as if they had been 
poured upon the little butte, thousands and thou- 


92 


The People-of-Peace 

sands of them in the long ago, for undoubtedly 
the terrific winds and the beating rains and the 
melting snows had carried immense numbers 
down the mountain-sides, and still plenty were 
to be found on top. Why, why had they been de- 
posited there by the ancient people? we kept ask- 
ing, until our minds were all in a whirl. 

Said Hannah, along in the afternoon: *HVe 
just got to quit the search or I shall go blind. Oh, 
well, just this one short crevice, and then no more 
for to-day.” 

A moment later she cried out: *‘Come here! 
Quick! See what I have found!” 

It was a find: inlaid, upon an oval, whitish sub- 
stance about three inches long, were pieces of 
turquoise, close en-joined, in the form of a frog, 
and held in place with something that looked like 
black gum. Close above the head of the frog was a 
hole in the white substance, evidently for the pur- 
pose of attaching the piece to a necklace. It was a 
fine piece of workmanship. 

‘Ht was a woman’s jewel, and how proud she 
93 


In the Great Apache Forest 

must have been of it!’’ Hannah exclaimed. ^‘Any 
woman would be glad to wear it. I shall wear it, 
myself, as soon as I can get a necklace for it!” 

‘‘Yes, it is beautiful,” I said. “And if those old- 
time jewelers could do that fine work, they did it in 
gold, too. When we get into our cave we sure 
shall make some wonderful finds ! ” 

At five o’clock I reported “No fires,” and we 
went down to the cabin, put our finds in a little 
box — already half full of beads and arrow-points, 
and then had a good supper. After washing the 
dishes and getting in some stove wood for the 
evening and morning, we again went on top. 
Again I reported no smoke anywhere in sight. 

“Look again; especially Green’s Peak way,” 
said the Supervisor. 

“No smoke that way, nor in any other direc- 
tion,” I told him, after another careful sweep of the 
forest with my glasses, and he told me that I could 
go. 

It was just getting dusk when we entered the 
cabin, shut the door, lighted the lamp, and settled 
94 


The People-of-Peace 

down for an hour of reading. Then, presently, there 
came a gentle knock upon the door, and we stared 
at one another, wild-eyed, for we had heard not 
the slightest sound of approaching footsteps; the 
porch boards had not creaked. Hannah motioned 
me not to go to the door. But again, and a little 
louder, came the knocking. I got up, tiptoed over 
to the door with my rifle, swung it suddenly open, 
and Hannah gave a little cry of fright: for there, 
plain in the light of our lamp, stood an Indian. 
A young Indian. No Apache. His hair was cut as 
short as mine. He wore leggins, shirt, blanket of a 
bluish-black material, and upon his feet a pair of 
plain, buckskin moccasins. He was not so tall as I, 
quite slender, and his face was good. And while 
we stared at him, he smiled, bowed, and in good 
English said: ‘‘How do you do! May I come in?"’ 

That did stagger me — a blanket Indian speak- 
ing good English! I am afraid that I just stared 
at him, open-mouthed. And I might have kept 
staring had not Hannah answered for me: “Yes. 
Come in. Have a seat.” 


95 


In the Great Apache Forest 

He entered, seated himself upon the food chest, 
glanced around, and said: ‘"You have a nice little 
cabin here. We did not expect there would be a 
cabin, nor white people away up on this great 
mountain.” 

“We? There are more of you?” I asked. 

“Yes. I am a Hopi. I am with four of our old 
men who have come all the long way across the 
desert to the top of this mountain to pray.” 

“To pray! Here to pray?” I asked. 

“Yes,” he answered shortly, and somehow we 
did not like to question him further about that. 

“Will you not have some supper?” Hannah 
said. 

“No, thank you. I ate with my old men. And, 
anyhow, I may not eat white men’s food — not 
until that for which my old men have come is 
finished.” 

We did not know what to make of that. We could 
do nothing but stare at him. 

Said Hannah, at last: “You speak English as 
well as we do.” 


96 


The People-of"Peace 

‘‘I attended the Phcnnix Indian School for 
four years, and was in the Carlisle, Pennsylvania, 
Indian School for four more years. I came home 
from there about two months ago,’’ he answered. 

And at that, Hannah and I had the same 
thought: This young Indian had had far greater 
advantages than we had ever dreamed of having. 
He had traveled in the cars; seen the great cities 
of the East and their millions of people; seen the 
ocean and big ships: and for eight years had 
attended good schools. Why, what we knew was as 
nothing, compared with his knowledge! 

“You must have enjoyed attending school,” 
I said. 

“I had no choice about it. The Government 
forces us to attend its schools. Oh, how my people 
hate that!” he exclaimed, his eyes fairly flashing 
light. And then, more quietly: “And you two — 
why are you away up here?” 

I explained that I was a fireguard, and that 
my sister was keeping me company for a time; 
that there was a little lookout house upon the 
97 


In the Great Apache Forest 

summit where I passed the days, watching ror 
fires and reporting those that I discovered. When 
I had finished, he nodded thoughtfully, and said: 
‘‘We were surprised when we saw your cabin. 
I do not know what my old men will say when 
they learn that you also have a cabin up on the 
summit of the mountain; it may interfere with 
their plans.” 

“Where are they? And what did you do with 
your horses?” Hannah asked. 

“When we saw your cabin, here, we turned 
back and camped a little way below the spring. 
We brought no horses. We have come all the way 
on foot, just as our fathers did, hundreds and 
hundreds of years ago,” he replied. 

“Oh, tell us! Do tell us why you and your old 
men are here ! We want so much to know 1 ” Hannah 
begged, smiling at him. 

He looked steadily at her, at me, too, for some 
time, and finally said: “I think that you are both 
of good heart. You will not believe as we do, but 
I feel sure you will not laugh at our beliefs, so I 
98 


The People-of-Peace 

will tell you why we have come to this great 
mountain: 

^‘For three summers, out there at our desert 
buttes, there has been but little rain; each summer 
my people’s harvest of corn and beans and squash 
has been less and less, and they have been obliged 
to use nearly all that remained of the harvests 
of better years. Then came this summer and no 
rain at all, and our priests said: ‘We have prayed 
and prayed Rain God for three summers to water 
our crops, to give us plenty of his rain, lest we 
starve. He may be angry at us — perhaps he has 
been far away and has not heard our prayers; 
if he fails us this season we must many of us 
die from want of food. There remains but one 
thing for us to do: we must go to him at his 
high mountain home and there he cannot fail to 
hear our prayers and see the sacrifices that we 
make to him. 

“Our people were anxious that the priests 
should do this. Away back, in the very long ago, 
when, every spring, the priests and great numbers 

99 


In the Great Apache Forest 

of the men, women, and children went to the 
high mountain home of Rain God to pray and 
sacrifice to him, there had been never a summer of 
poor crops, for Rain God had accepted their offer- 
ings and their prayers and plentifully watered the 
plantings.” 

Our strange visitor paused. He had spoken 
forcefully, earnestly, and now seemed to be deeply 
considering what more to tell us, if indeed we were 
in his thoughts. His eyes now had a far-away, 
absent look. Hannah and I waited breathlessly 
for him to continue. This talk of Rain God, prayers 
and sacrifices upon high mountains — it was all 
strange in our ears ; it was as though we were being 
introduced to another world. 

‘'All of our priests, all of our tribe, were anxious 
to make this journey. But there were the mission- 
aries, talking ever against what they call our 
‘heathen practices’! they would make such out- 
cry to our agent, they have so much influence in 
Washington, that he would not dare permit us 
all to go: those who went would have to start off 


lOO 


The PeopIe-of-Peace 

in the night ; they would have to sneak out across 
the desert just as though they were escaping 
thieves! So, after much talk, four priests were 
chosen to take the trail — the ancient trail of our 
long-ago fathers to Rain God’s home, and I was 
selected to accompany them as their interpreter, 
because I in time — when I have learned all that 
the old men can teach me — I, myself, shall be a 
priest of our faith, a priest of the Flute Clan. 

‘‘It was decided that, as our fathers in the long 
ago approached Rain God, so should these four 
priests go to him; they should wear no clothing 
and carry no article of white men’s make, and dur- 
ing the journey eat no white men’s food. Why? 
Because, as some of our priests said, it was likely 
that Rain God was punishing us for allowing our 
children to be taught the white men’s religion; was 
withholding his rains because of that. As though 
we could help that! The white men do as they 
wish with us and our children, and we are power- 
less. Anyhow, if the four priests went to Rain 
God without the least taint of anything of the 


lOI 


In the Great Apache Forest 

whites within them or upon their persons — why, 
then how could the great god refuse their prayers 
for rain ? 

'‘So it was that, after days of preparation and 
much prayer, we started out one night upon the ' 
ancient trail to this mountain, the trail that had . 
not been used by our people for years and years, 
almost a hundred years. Of those who had last 
traveled it but few had returned: our terrible 
enemies, the Apaches, had killed the most of the 
men, and captured nearly all of the women and 
children. And it is not without fear of the Apaches 
that we are here, weaponless. We could not carry 
white men’s rifles — offensive to Rain God — nor 
bows because we no longer have arrow-points of 
flint and have lost the art of making them. Tell me : 
do you ever see Apaches, here upon this mountain ^ ” 

"No, I haven’t seen any of them up here,” 

I told him. "They are not allowed to have guns, 
and are pretty well guard’ed by the soldiers, four 
companies of cavalry at Fort Apache, sixty miles 
from here.” 


102 


The People-of-Peace 

“ But some of them do have guns, I have heard.” 

‘‘Yes. They manage to keep a few hidden from 
the soldiers, and now and then sneak away from 
their agency to hunt deer.” 

“Just deer?” he asked, meaningly. 

“Well, some white men have been found in these 
mountains, murdered in a horrible manner,” I 
answered. 

“Of course! The Apaches are happy only when 
they are torturing people to death!” he exclaimed. 

“The Apaches and the Navajos, what have n’t 
they done to us!” he went on. “We were not al- 
ways just a few people living out there on the cliffs 
in the middle of the great desert, and depending 
upon the rains for the growing of our crops. No! 
We were a people of thousands and thousands, 
living far south in the Red Earth country; the 
Giant Cactus country; and our name then was 
as it is now, People-of-Peace. We lived in large, 
many-roomed, two- and three-stories high pueblos 
that we built in the wide valleys, and from the 
rivers we brought plenty of water in wide, deep 
103 


In the Great Apache Forest 

ditches for our plantings. All up and down those 
valleys and far out upon the desert were our green 
growing crops of corn, beans, squash, sugar-cane, 
tobacco, and cotton. We were rich! Rich and 
happy, we People-of-Peace! 

‘‘But that was not to last. Years and years be- 
fore the first white men came — ’’ 

“We know who they were: the Spanish coru- 
quistadoTy Coronado, and his little band of soldiers. 
They came into this country in 1540,” Hannah 
interrupted. 

“Yes. And they were the bearers of more mis- 
fortune to us! But as I was going to say: Years 
and years before their time came down upon us 
new and terrible enemies, the Apaches, and their 
brothers, the Navajos. They murdered us in our 
fields; waylaid and wiped out our hunting parties; 
destroyed our crops ; and at last forced us to aban- 
don our broad, rich, irrigated valleys and move 
north into the mountains, where, in the cliffs of the 
deep canyons, we built our homes. There, too, the 
Apaches and the Navajos kept attacking us. Our 
104 


The People-of-Peace 

numbers became less and less, until, at last, the 
few who survived moved far out into the desert 
and built homes, there where we are to-day. Even 
there our enemies occasionally came, but they 
could not force their way up the steep and narrow 
trails to our pueblos, and so were unable to make 
an end to us. 

‘‘So, there you have the story of my people,” 
our visitor concluded, his voice dropping almost 
to a whisper, the fire of bitter anger dying in his 
eyes. 

“But you spoke of more wrongs done you by 
Coronado. What of him Hannah asked. 

“Yes. He whom my people named ‘Hard- 
Clothing Chief.’ Because, of course, he wore shirt, 
leggins, and hat of iron, and his men, too. But I 
cannot tell you about him now; my old men are 
anxious for my return to them. But you shall know 
about Coronado, for we remain here four days. 
Good-night to you.” 

He went out, carefully closing the door behind 
him, and Hannah and I felt as though we had 
los 


In the Great Apache Forest 

been in another world. How much the young 
Indian knew! What a tale of terrible persecution 
of his people he had told us! More than ever we 
hated and feared the Apaches, so close to us down 
there on the south slope ! And well we knew that 
if they discovered our visitor and his four old men, 
there would be murder right here upon our moun- 
tain. How the Apaches would delight in taking 
— at this late day — five more scalps of the Hopi 
people ! 

We had no more thought of reading, that night; 
what we had just learned was far more interesting 
than anything we could get from the printed page. 
Said Hannah, as I prepared to go outside to my 
bunk: know that I should feel that this we 

have heard about Rain God and his home here 
upon this mountain, is nothing but a crazy heathen 
tale, but I just can’t do it. I feel — oh, I can’t ex- 
plain how I feel. I am all mixed up in my mind!” 

I said nothing. But as I lay in my bunk waiting 
for sleep, my heart went out to the persecuted 
People-of-Peace, and to the four old men down at 
io6 


The People-of-Peace 

our spring, resting from their long tramp across 
the hot and dusty desert, and firm in the belief 
that their Rain God would answer the prayers 
they were about to make to him here upon this 
storm-swept peak. 

I awoke a little later than usual, and after 
calling Hannah, took the trail to the spring for a 
bucket of water. As I neared it I heard a deep, 
pleasant voice fervently making what seemed to 
be an address. I rounded a clump of spruces and 
stopped short: in a row by a little fire sat our 
visitor of the evening and three of his old men 
The fourth one stood upon the lower side of the 
fire, with uplifted hands, talking impassionedly 
on and on, and I sensed at once that he was ad- 
dressing the rising sun. I noiselessly drew back 
into the spruces, waited until he ceased speaking, 
and then went on down. The young Hopi called 
out a ‘‘good-morning’’ to me, and said something 
to the old men, and they one by one shook my 
hand, he who had addressed the sun saying, as the 
young interpreter told me: “We heard about you 
107 


In the Great Apache Forest 

last night. It is good that you keep watch for the 
putters-out-of-fires, down below: the trees love 
life as well as we do.” 

Said another: '‘We learn that you have a little 
house upon the top of this mountain. Tell us just 
where it is.” 

"Right upon the top of a little rock butte at the 
south end of the summit,” I answered. And when 
that had been turned into their language they 
looked solemnly, meaningly at one another, and 
talked together for a moment or two, the youth 
listening intently to what they said. Meantime, 
I looked at them, and thought that I had never 
seen more kindly, intelligent faces, seamed and 
leathery with age though they were. All wore their 
gray hair cut square just above their shoulders 
and held in place with a narrow band of buckskin, 
and their clothing was just like that of the youth, 
of blue-black, homespun wool. Under a tree near 
the fire were a number of buckskin sacks of dif- 
ferent size and well filled — probably with food, 
I thought. Close in front of the fire were five small 
io8 


The People-of-Peace 

bowls of painted pottery, much like the pottery 
fragments strewn about my cave hole, and the 
lookout butte. 

One of the old men soon questioned me again, 
and all of them listened eagerly, breathlessly, I 
thought, to my answers. 

‘‘You have been all over the top of this moun- 
tain?” he asked. 

“Yes,” I answered. 

“Up there near the north end of it and a little 
way down on the other slope, did you see a hole 
in the rock?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you go down into it?” 

“Yes,” I answered again. And when the youth 
had interpreted my reply they suddenly seemed 
to wilt: they groaned as though in great pain; and 
the young interpreter looked at me reproachfully. 

“But I went in only a little way; the hole is 
blocked with a piece of fallen roof rock,” I added. 
And at that the youth clapped his hands and 
shouted, “Good! Good!” to me, and when he 
109 


In the Great Apache Forest 

told the old men what I had said, they straightened 
up and smiled at me, talking excitedly all four at 
once. 

‘'It is that they are glad you did not go in there. 
That cave is Rain God’s kiva, or as you would 
call it, church. It is only for him, and for certain 
ones of our priests, these four. Had you gone into 
it, it would have been desecrated. I, myself, may 
not go into it, for I am but a student, as you may 
say. The priests teach me a few of the secrets, and 
watch me always to see how I conduct myself — 
oh, it will be a long time before I am made a full 
priest.” 

“Can’t you tell me what there is in the cave — 
the kiva, as you call it?” 

I “I know no more than you what is hidden there, 
and if I did know, would not dare name the sacred 
things,” he answered. 

I turned from him to fill my bucket at the spring 
and just then heard Hannah screaming out my 


name. 


CHAPTER VI 
The Wrongs of the Hopis 

I DROPPED my bucket and started up the trail 
as fast as I could go, and as a runner found 
that I was nothing: with a few leaps the young 
Hopi and his four old priests were ahead of me, 
leaving me, snatching up here and there a stone as 
they ran. After Hannah’s cry of “George! George! 
Come quick!” we heard her no more. Something 
terrible had happened to her, I was sure. It was 
but a little way — a hundred yards — to the little 
clearing on top of the ridge. As I came into it, well 
behind the others, I saw that the cabin door was 
closed. Hannah’s cry for help had been in the open, 
or we should not have heard it so plainly, if at all. 
I believed that she had gone out into the timber; 
that she had been suddenly overpowered there by 
some one, or, maybe. Double Killer, or she would 
have kept calling me. I was in a terrible state of 
mind. And then, what relief! The cabin door swung 


III 


In the Great Apache Forest 

open and she came running to us, pistol in one hand, 
my rifle in the other, 

‘‘I went out in there,” she cried, as I took the 
weapon from her, — out into those spruces for 
dry twigs to start the fire, and a man was lying 
there. He sprang up, and I turned and ran to the 
cabin, screaming for you, and got inside and barred 
the door. Oh, how frightened I was ! I was sure the 
man would catch me before I could get to the 
cabin!” 

‘‘He chased you?” I cried. 

“When he sprang up he came straight toward 
me. How far he followed I don’t know. I did n’t 
dare look back. I just kept running/ until I got 
inside, and when I turned to shut and bar the door 
he was not in sight.” 

“ But you saw him ! Was he white, or an Apache ? 

“I don’t know. It was all so dim in there, the 
branches were so thick that I did n’t get a good 
look at him. I did n’t have time to look at him: 
I had to run!” she answered. 

I did n’t know what to say to this. I sure was 


II2 


The Wrongs of the Hopis 

mad. Not afraid, though; I just wanted to get sight 
of any one who would chase my sister. 

I The young Hopi had been telling his priests 
what we were saying, and one of them now asked: 
‘‘Have you any enemies?” 

“There are some bad men in the forest,” I an- 
swered, and went on to tell them about the deserter, 
who, we believed, had stolen our food, and about 
the I.W.W. firebugs. And when I had finished, one 
of the old men spoke to the others in a low, sad 
voice. 

“What did he say?” I asked the interpreter. 
“These were his words,” he solemnly replied: 
“‘Whites, Apaches, Navajos, all of the tribes we 
know, are murderers, thieves, liars! We alone are 
People-of-Peace. We do no wrong to any of them, 
yet how they make us suffer!'” 

Now, what answer could we make to that ? None. 
It was true. Hannah and I stood ashamed before 
those gentle old men. Not for ourselves, but for 
those of our kind who were mean to them. 

“Well, let us all try to learn who was the man in 

113 


In the Great Apache Forest 

the timber, whether Apache or white,” the young 
Hopi proposed. 

‘‘But your old men have no weapons — they 
will be afraid to go in there,” I said. 

He spoke to them and they all nodded assent, 
gripping more tightly the rocks they held. We went 
across the clearing and into the spruces, and Han- 
nah showed us just where she had seen the man. 
Under the low-branching tree the dead needles 
were packed as though he had lain there a long 
time; all night, perhaps. Along the way that he had 
chased her, only a few yards, the needles were only 
slightly pressed by his footsteps. We cut a circle 
around the place ; then a larger one, and, down on 
the slope of the ridge, one of the old men called us 
to him and pointed to tracks in a bare stretch of 
ground; broad-heel shoetracks far apart, leading 
down into the canyon. I needed but one look at 
them: “The deserter! He is back again!” I said to 
Hannah. She did not answer; she just shivered a 
bit as though she were cold. I explained to the 
others that I knew the tracks ; that they were made 
114 


The Wrongs of the Hopis 

by the man who had camped down in the canyon, 
and several times stolen our food. 

^^It is well for us that he was n’t an Apache, to 
come again with a lot of his people to take our 
scalps and dance over our bodies,” one of the old 
men remarked. 

y: “Sister, this sure does settle it! I can’t fireguard 
all day and watch all night for this thieving de- 
serter! I am going to call for help,” I said. 

“Don’t you do it!” she cried. “I am not afraid, 
now. If I had had my pistol when I first came out, 
you would have heard my shot instead of my 
scream for help.” 

“No! Don’t call people up here; I will help you, 
stand watch nights for you,’ the young Hopi 
pleaded. “With you two, we feel at ease; we know 
that your hearts are right. But with a lot of white 
men up here, laughing, sneering at us, oh, my old 
men could not do that they have come so far to do. 
To fail now would just about kill them!” 

“All right ! All right ! We ’ll just go on as we are,” 
I told him. 


In the Great Apache Forest 

Our Hopi friends, of course, refused to eat with 
us. They would go back to the spring for a time, 
they said. Hannah and I had a hurried breakfast 
and a silent one. Just before seven o’clock, while 
we were washing the dishes, the telephone rang 
my call, rang it twice before I could get to the 
receiver, and when I answered, my ear ached with 
the Supervisor’s shout: ‘‘Big fire somewhere near 
the sawmill! Go up top as fast as you can leg it, 
and report!” 

“Yes! Right away!” I shouted back. Hannah 
had heard him as plainly as I. “Oh, the firebugs 
again! And the wind blowing! This is terrible!” 
she cried, flinging the dishcloth upon its nail and 
stuffing some bread and things into our lunch sack, 
and her pistol into the holster at her hip. 

We locked the door behind us, although that was 
almost useless; without doubt Henry King had a 
key to fit the lock. I had noticed as well as Hannah 
that there was a stiff southwest wind, and had 
hoped that there was no fire in the forest for it to 
spread. As we neared the top of the trail it blew 

ii6 


f 


The Wrongs of the Hopis 

Stronger, and, once we were clear of the spruces, 
it was that hard we had to lean against it the rest 
of the way up to the lookout. 

We scrambled up into the little house, and I 
swung the chart sight onto the fire, and stepping 
across to the telephone, gave the Supervisor the 
degree. 

^‘The firebugs again! Describe it!” he shouted. 

‘‘Set in four places in a line of maybe a mile 
north and south, and spreading fast! The sky that 
way is black with smoke!” I thought that I heard 
him swear as he hung up. 

For a time Hannah and I by turns watched the 
fire with the glasses, and now and then could see 
the awful red flames break skyward up through the 
rolling black blanket of smoke. With the aid of the 
strong wind, the I.W.W. firebugs were at last carry- 
ing out their threat. If they did not succeed in 
burning the sawmill, they were anyhow destroying 
the great firs and pines that it was to turn into 
lumber, and it would have to be moved — at great 
expense — to another locality. I tell you that we 
117 


In the Great Apache Forest 

sure felt bad, watching that wicked burning of our 
beautiful forest. And the meanness of it ! Out there 
in the great world, why were people so mean ? Why 
were they always fighting, stealing, doing every- 
thing that was mean to one another? 

We presently saw the Hopis coming up on the 
summit, and said Hannah: thought that I could 
never like Indians, but they are different. I just 
love those Hopi Indians, those People-of-Peace, 
because, George, they are just like us, here in these 
little mountain settlements. We do no wrong to 
one another, nor to outsiders. Why can’t all the 
world be like us ? ” 

You’ve sure got me! All I know is that they 
just can’t be good, and that is all there is to it. 
I don’t want to think about it any more, it makes 
me sick.” 

The Hopis came on to the foot of the lookout 
butte and we went down, and asked them up into 
our little house. They shook their heads. No, they 
would not go up. By putting the house there, the 
whites had spoiled their once sacred ground. One 

ii8 


The Wrongs of the Hopis 

of them took up two or three pottery fragments 
that lay scattered at his feet, examined them, held 
them out in our view, and told the young Hopi that 
he was going to say a few words to us. 

‘‘White children of good heart,’’ he began, 
“these are pieces of beautiful ollas left here by our 
People-of-Peace. They have lain here in the rain 
and snow and sun a long time, some of them hun- 
dreds of years, but you see that they are still 
smooth, and the different colors of paint as bright 
as the day the maker put them on. Yes, the pottery 
of our long-ago people was far better made, the 
painted figures upon it far more beautiful than our 
women of to-day can make. But perhaps you are 
not interested in this.” 

“Oh, yes! We are interested! Tell us all about 
it!” Hannah replied. 

“Then let us get out of the wind,” the inter- 
preter said, and led us around to the east side of 
the butte. But, first, one of the old men pointed 
off to the great fire and asked: “That is the work 
of the bad white men you spoke of?” 

119 


In the Great Apache Forest 

*‘Yes. They are trying to burn a little sawmill 
off there, as well as the forest,” I answered; and he 
sadly shook his head. Hannah and I sure stood 
ashamed before the old men; ashamed that they 
should know how mean were some of our own kind ! 

We sat down in a little circle, close at the edge 
of the butte, and the old man continued his tale : 

“None of us four have ever been here upon this 
sacred mountain, nor were our fathers, nor our 
grandfathers ever here; it was long before their 
time that our people were obliged to give up their 
every-spring journeys here to Rain God’s home. 
But just as though we had been of that long-ago 
time, we priests know how the ancient ones made 
the long journey, just what they did when they 
arrived here. For three days certain ones of the 
priests prayed and performed their mysteries in 
the kiva out there at the other end of the moun- 
tain, while their people, hundreds and hundreds of 
them, camped close down there in the timber, 
praying, too, and waiting for the great day, the 
fourth day, to come. Early in the morning of that 


120 


The Wrongs of the Hopis 

day the people all came up on top, men and women, 
bringing some of their most valuable things, and 
little children the toys they most loved, to sacrifice 
to Rain God. These they placed here and there 
upon this butte, the very highest point of this 
highest mountain of all the range, where Rain God 
loved to sit and look out upon the world, and some 
they placed around the entrance to his kiva, in 
which he often performed his great mysteries. And 
as they set them down upon the rocks they prayed 
him to accept their poor offerings and to drop his 
rain plentifully upon their plantings. Men taught 
their little sons and mothers their little daughters 
to say those prayers, and guided their little hands 
in the placing of their toy offerings. Why, in that 
long-ago time this whole butte was covered with 
gifts to Rain God: beautiful ollas; bead necklaces; 
the finest clothing; weapons; children’s buzzers, 
dolls, and other toys. 

“Then, on that fourth morning, the priests came 
up out of the kiva and danced their dance to Rain 
God, and made him their offerings. And sometimes 


I2I 


In the Great Apache Forest 

he answered their prayers at once, right there 
gathering his clouds around him and then spread- 
ing them out until they dropped their water upon 
the farthest plantings of the people. And if not at 
once, he later brought his rains to their plantings: 
in those times there never was a crop failure. No, 
not even when the Apaches and Navajos came and 
attacked the prayers for rain right upon the top 
of this mountain, killing many of them and destroy- 
ing their offerings. 

‘‘No, not even when the Apaches and Navajos 
finally prevented our ancient ones coming here to 
pray — not until long after the coming of the first 
white men did Rain God at times withhold his 
rains, allow our plantings to die. At first only one 
summer in ten, or something like that, but of late, 
very often. And why? Oh, it is not through our 
fault, we old people; it is because of what the white 
men have done to our children, things that we, 
their fathers, are powerless to prevent. 

“When, in that long-ago time, our people from 
the cliffs of Oraibi sighted those first white men 


122 


The Wrongs of the Hopis 

coming across the desert, all sitting on top of huge, 
strange animals, they feared them. The priests hur- 
ried to bar their way with sacred meal, but they 
paid no attention to it — ” 

‘‘Oh, ask him to wait! Tell us about the sacred 
meal,’’ I said to the young Hopi. 

The old men all patiently smiled assent, and the 
young Hopi explained : 

“Sacred meal. It was corn meal prepared by the 
priests in their kiva, and was used for several pur- 
poses. When a line of it was sprinkled across a trail 
leading up into one of our villages, it was a warning 
to all people, all comers, that they were not wanted 
up on top, and must turn back.” 

The old man nodded, and went on. 

“Those white men did not even look at the cross- 
line of sacred meal, nor pay any attention to the 
priests standing behind it and motioning them 
back. Instead, they fired their guns and the people 
fled before them, almost crazy with fear, for they 
thought that those strange men had thunder and 
lightning for their weapons. 

123 


In the Great Apache Forest 

‘*On they came, right up into Oraibi, those white 
men, and camped in the houses and searched them 
and the kivas, into which none but the priests were 
allowed to descend. Yes, they searched every room 
in the village and the piles of rock around it, for 
what the people could not understand. Long after- 
ward they learned that it was for gold. Metal that 
the Hopi had never seen or heard of. Angry because 
they had found none of it, they left Oraibi, forced 
their way into each of our six other villages, and 
then turned off to the west and were seen no more. 
The priests purified the kivas. Years passed, and 
the entrance of the white men into their homes 
became like a bad dream to the people, and at last 
it was thought that white skins would never again 
be seen in Hopi land. 

‘‘But, after years and years had passed, more 
white men did come, and because they seemed to 
be different from the first who had come, because 
they carried no weapons wherever they went, and 
were kind and pleasant-voiced, the people made 
them welcome; gave them a house to live in, food, 
124 


The Wrongs of the Hopis 

wood, and the women gladly brought up water for 
them from the spring at the foot of the cliff. All 
went well for a time — until the white men learned 
to speak our language — and then the people 
learned that they were priests, and trouble began. 
The Hopi gods were devils, the kivas devils’ holes, 
the white men said, and forbade the Hopi to pray 
to any but the white god. And at that the Hopi 
priests seized those white priests, and carried them 
to the edge of that high cliff of Oraibi and tossed 
them off from it: they struck the rocks at the bot- 
tom and were dead. 

‘‘After that happening, our people saw no more 
white men for years and years. They who came 
had been Spaniards. Came at last, and in the time 
of us four here, a different kind of white men; men 
of very white skin, and at first they did not bother 
us. They fought the Apaches and the Navajos; put 
them upon certain lands and made them tame, and 
of that we were very glad. Then came, not many 
years ago, one of them who said that he had been 
sent by the Great Father of the white men to live 
125 


In the Great Apache Forest 

with US, and teach us the white men’s ways; we 
were no longer to live as we had always lived ; we 
were all of us to follow the white men’s trail, 
on and on, up and up, until we should be just 
like the white men except for the color of our 
skins. 

“Said our chiefs to him: ^As you came, so may 
you go, and at once. Tell your Great Father for us 
that we thank him for his offer of help, but that we 
do not need it. As we have lived here for hundreds 
and hundreds of years, so do we intend to live. We 
ask but one thing of the Great Father, and that is 
to be let alone.’ 

“Said the white man: ‘The Great Father has 
ordered me to remain here with you, and here I 
stay, and as the Great Father has ordered shall be 
done for you, so shall it be done.’ 

“What could we do then? Nothing. We had seen 
the whites tame our terrible enemies and knew 
that we few, weaponless Hopis could do nothing 
against them. This white man brought other white 
men to help him, and there in our own land they 
126 


The Wrongs of the Hopis 

built houses for themselves, and houses for teaching 
our children their language and their ways, and 
houses for their gods. And, worst of all, they said 
that our children must worship their gods, because 
the Hopi gods were not. That we had made gods 
of our idle dreams. They said that our beliefs were 
all lies; that there was no Under World, from which 
we came and to which we return when we die. They 
said that their gods made us, as well as the whites, 
and that if we would not believe, would not pray 
as they did, then would we go to a place of terrible 
fire when we die, and forever burn. 

So it is with us to-day. Oh, how we suffer from 
seeing our children taken from us and taught these 
different ways of life! But though they are taught, 
though under the eyes of their teachers they speak 
the white men’s prayers, in their hearts the most 
of them are at the same time praying to our own 
gods. A few really do believe the teachings of the 
whites, and in punishing them for it, our gods pun- 
ish us all. Because of them, strange and terrible 
diseases carry many of us away. Because of them, 
127 


In the Great Apache Forest 

Rain God neglects to water our plantings. Oh, we 
are poor, very poor, we People-of-Peace ! 

“And now, you two young fire-watchers upon 
this sacred mountain, why have we told you all 
these our troubles.? Because we ask your pity and 
your help. We ask you, while you sit up there in 
your little house watching this great forest, to 
watch also for us, that for four days none come to 
disturb us, out there at the other end of the moun- 
tain. Far have we come across the desert, here to 
beg Rain God to punish us all no longer for the un- 
beliefs of the few, and we must not be disturbed. 
Will you do that for us? If any come, your friends 
maybe, or whoever, will you say nothing to them 
about us, will you try to keep them from wandering 
out to the sacred kiva?’’ 

“Yes! Yes! Of course we will!” cried Hannah. 

“We will do our best to protect you,” I told them. 

And at that those old men gave great sighs of 
relief; smiled happily at us; and in the eyes of the 
one who had done the talking I was sure that I saw 
tears. 


128 


The Wrongs of the Hopis 

^'You will need a rope. Down in the cabin is a 
rope ladder that we will loan you,” I said to the 
interpreter. 

“ But we can use nothing of white men’s make. 
I shall make a rope of twisted willows,” he an- 
swered. 

“How can you, without a knife?” 

“Two sharp-edged stones shall be my knife,” he 
said. 

They turned from us, to go to the spring after 
the things they had left there, and to make their 
rope, and we went up into the lookout. The fire 
off to the north seemed to be burning as fiercely 
as ever. 

“Well, now we know why so many beads, 
arrow-points, and pieces of pottery are here,” 
I said. 

“Yes. This little butte was a shrine: a shrine to 
Rain God. The things that the old-time people 
scattered here were their presents to him. I don’t 
care if their beliefs were but dreams. Just think of 
them coming up here from their far-away homes 
129 


In the Great Apache Forest 

to pray for water for their corn. How beautiful 
their faith!” 

"‘Yes. And my dream, it, too, comes to nothing: 
the old man said that his long-ago people had no 
gold; had never heard of it! And I thought that 
there would likely be a lot of it in my cave find ! 
Well, they can’t get into the cave without a crow- 
bar to loosen the fallen roof rock. We shall be first 
into it after all.” 

‘‘Don’t be too sure of that. I just feel that the 
old men will find some way to get into it,” said 
Hannah. 

The little party soon came back up the trail with 
their packs of food and things, and with the glasses 
we made out that they each carried an olla — 
filled with water, of course. Somewhat behind them 
was the young Hopi, carrying a large bundle of 
willows upon his back. They all went out along the 
crest of the mountain, and then down to the cave 
hole in the west slope and out of our sight. I felt 
bad that I could n’t be with them to see just what 
they did there. 


130 


The Wrongs of the Hopis 

Along toward noon the wind ceased blowing. 
The smoke from the four great fires rose straight 
up, turned from dense black to a dark gray color 
and to less volume. We were glad: the men down 
there would be able to fight the fires with some 
chance of success. At twelve o’clock I reported no 
other fires started, and we went down to the cabin 
for lunch, at the edge of the clearing pausing and 
making sure that no one was in it. Everything 
inside was just as we had left it; we had expected 
to find the place stripped of food. At one o’clock 
we were back in the lookout. The four fires seemed 
to be burning as steadily as ever, and we feared 
that the Supervisor had been unable to get enough 
men to fight them. That was a long afternoon to 
us. As the hours passed, we wanted more and more 
to know what chance there was of the fires being 
extinguished. And we were all on edge to know 
what the Hopis were doing out at the other end 
of the mountain. At six o’clock, when I made my 
evening report, the office clerk told me that the 
Supervisor was out at the fires, and that, from 

131 


In the Great Apache Forest 

what he could learn, they seemed to be steadily 
spreading. The men who set them had not been 
caught — not seen, even. 

As we were leaving the lookout, I said to Hannah 
that we might at least go out along the summit far 
enough to see what the Hopis were doing at the 
cave hole, but she shortly answered: “We shall do 
nothing of the kind! You know that they do not 
want to be spied upon!’’ 

Again we found that nothing had been taken 
from the cabin during our absence. I brought in a 
lot of stovewood, and water from the spring, and 
we cooked a big supper, and then no more than 
tasted it. We were too anxious to enjoy the meal. 
We dreaded the coming night. Soon after sunset 
we barred the cabin door and sat in the darkness. 
After a time I asked Hannah what she was think- 
ing about ? 

“I am wondering if Henry King has fallen in 
with those firebugs and become one of them,” she 
answered. 

“Just what I was thinking. I believe that he has 
132 


The Wrongs of the Hopis 

joined them, and is rustling what food they eat. 
How I wish I knew where they hide out!^’ I said. 

‘'Oh, let’s draw the curtains and light the lamp ! 
I just can’t bear sitting here in the darkness, 
thinking about those terrible men!” she cried. 


CHAPTER VII 

The Old Men in Rain God’s Cave 
S I drew the curtains, I saw that it was now 



quite dark outside; the moon had not yet 
come up. Hannah struck a match to the lamp, and 
we somehow did feel better, sitting in its light. 
Then, as before, there came a soft tapping upon the 
door, without our having heard footsteps nor creak- 
ing of the flimsy porch boards. 

‘Tt is the young Hopi,” I whispered. 

‘‘Yes. But make sure of it,” Hannah told me; 
and I called out: “Who is there?” 

“I, your friend,” came the hissed answer in the 
voice that we knew, and when I had taken down 
the bar, the Hopi stepped quickly inside, and we 
saw that he held in his left hand, close up against 
his breast, a short, thick-bodied bow and a few 
arrows. 

“Oh, where did you find those?” Hannah cried, 
as I slammed the door bar back in place. 


134 


The Old Men in Rain God’s Cave 

. “In the kiva. In Rain God’s kiva. The old men 
brought them out to me. The bow cord had rotted; 
the point wrappings, too. But we have plenty of 
deer sinew. See: I have made a new cord and re- 
wrapped the points,” he softly answered, and held 
them close to the lamp. We saw that the points 
were very small, and all five of them of almost 
transparent rock. 

“Glass-rock points!” I said. 

“Obsidian, the archaeologists call it.” 

I stared at him, open-mouthed, I guess. Here 
were new words to me. English words, and an In- 
dian speaking them! I did n’t know what to say. 

“Silly! You don’t know what an archaeologist 
is?” cried Hannah. 

“A student of the ancient people; of their homes 
and the things that they made. I have been with 
one of them; he taught me much; among other 
things, that this glass rock is obsidian,” the young 
Hopi explained. And again I was staggered! How 
very much more than I he knew, and he a desert 
Indian! 

I3S 


In the Great Apache Forest 

‘‘But how did your old men get past the fallen 
roof rock and into the cave ? ” Hannah asked. 

“You did not notice that it was broken No.f* 
Well, it was broken in two pieces. We pried them 
apart with a short pole, got an end of my willow 
rope around the first piece and dragged it out, all 
of us pulling, and then we got out the other piece 
in the same way. 

“And now I am going to tell you something that 
will surprise you,” he went on, as though we had 
n’t been getting surprises from the time he came in. 
“But, first, what of the bad men of the forest — 
have you seen any of them? or had news about 
them?” 

I answered that we had seen none of them; that 
the sheriff’s men seemed to be unable to find 
them. 

“Well, now to surprise you,” he said. “When we 
got the passageway clear and my old men started 
to crawl in past where the rock had lain, the one in 
the lead, carrying his light of pitch-pine splinter, 
came to a sudden stop and cried out so loudly that 
136 


The Old Men in Rain God’s Gave 

even I could hear him: ‘Here is death! Here is the 
skeleton of a man!’ 

“I could not hear what more he said; just the 
rumble of voices came to me where I sat, up on top 
at the edge of the place of descent. But soon they 
came backing out, one by one, and climbed the wil- 
low rope and sat beside me, and old White Deer — 
he who had carried the light — said : ‘No, brothers, 
the bones there are the bones of an Apache. I am 
sure of it, for I held the light high and saw that the 
leg bones ran down into a pair of rotting, curved-up 
toes Apache moccasins. Beside the bones is a rusty 
old cap-lock gun, another proof that he who died 
there was an enemy. None of our people would 
have carried a white man’s weapon into the 
sacred place.’ 

“‘And now it is defiled, forever defiled by what 
lies in there. We may as well turn about and go 
home!’ cried one, in great distress. 

“‘No! Not so,’ White Deer answered. ‘Look 
you! Rain God himself dropped that roof rock, 
trapped our enemy right there in the kiva. No. 

137 


In the Great Apache Forest 

More than ever he likes his kiva because of what he 
has done there. He does n’t like the Apaches any 
more than we do. They don’t pray to him for rain; 
they hate it because it leaks down through their 
miserable brush houses and wets their skins.’ 

‘"‘But if we go in there we cannot escape brush- 
ing against what lies in the passage, the Apache 
bones, the gun, and we shall become tainted and 
our prayers as nothing,’ said another. 

“‘The passage shall be cleared for us: our young 
student shall clear it,’ White Deer answered. 

“ ‘What ? I clear it — I drag out those bones, and 
the gun; then shall I become tainted!’ I cried 

“‘But to keep us free from taint is one reason 
why we have you with us,’ he told me. ‘Of course 
you will become tainted, but as soon as we return 
to Oraibi, you shall be made clean in our Flute 
Clan kiva.’ 

“‘What is to be done with the enemy things.?’ I 
asked. 

“‘You will drag them out of the passage to the 
edge of the hole going down into the Under World, 
138 


The Old Men in Rain God’s Gave 

and when I have said a prayer, you will drop them 
into it,’ he said ; and I followed him down our wil- 
low ladder to the ledge, where he lighted the pine 
splinters for me — ” 

‘‘But matches are white men’s things!” Hannah 
cried; and I smiled, for I thought we were to show 
him how inconsistent his old men were. 

He smiled too, and answered: 

^“We have with us the fire tools of the Flute kiva: 
a piece of flat wood, and a sharpened stick, like an 
arrow-shaft. The point of it is set against the flat 
wood and surrounded with dry rotten wood, and 
then the stick is twirled between the palms of one’s 
hands until it burns into the flat wood and sets the 
rotten wood afire. That is the way we make fire; 
the ancient way; the one pure way! 

“Well, I took the light and crept into the passage 
and soon came to the Apache bones and the gun 
lying beside them. I found, also, a rotting rawhide 
pouch containing many bullets, and then a powder 
horn, and when I shook it and found that it was 
empty, I laughed, for I knew just what that Apache 

139 


In the Great Apache Forest 

enemy had done : he had gone into Rain God’s kiva 
to destroy whatever offerings my people had placed 
there, and when he found that Rain God had 
trapped him, he had fired his gun, hoping that his 
people, camped somewhere below, would hear it 
and come to him. So long as he had powder he had 
hope ; but when he fired the last charge of it, and no 
one came, then he knew that he must die. Oh, I am 
sure that he then tore at that fallen rock until his 
fingers bled. And every time that he cried out to his 
Apache gods to help him. Rain God mocked him. 
He suffered terribly from thirst; from hunger; and 
after days of suffering, died. 

‘^^Ah, ha, Apache dog! You would do wrong to 
our sacred kival’ I said, and got below the bones 
and the other things and began pushing and tossing 
them ahead of me up the passage, and with them an 
old knife in its rotting sheath, until I had them all 
out upon the open ledge. Beyond them stood White 
Deer, and above, looking down at us, the other old 
men. White Deer made a certain prayer, and then a 
sign to me. I swept the whole pile of things from the 
140 


The Old Men in Rain God’s Gave 

ledge into that straight-down hole in the mountain 
that goes to the Under World. We heard them strik- 
ing, rattling from wall to wall of it for a long time. 
Said White Deer, then: ‘Our people down there in 
that rich and happy land, from which we all came 
and to which we shall all return — they will rejoice 
over the presents that we have just dropped down 
to them. They will dance over those Apache 
bones!’ And then he took the light from me and 
crept into the passage. I climbed up on top and sat 
with the others, awaiting his return. 

“He was gone so long that we began to be wor- 
ried about him. But at last he came out upon the 
ledge and climbed up to us, and handed me the an- 
cient bow and arrows, the points that had dropped 
from them, and told me to repair them and we 
should then have a real weapon of defense. Just as 
the description of the kiva had been preserved by 
the priests of the Flute Clan, so had he found it, he 
said, except that there remained in place only one 
of the sacred ollas, a beautiful, small-neck, white 
ollawith paintings in black of rain clouds, lightning, 
141 


In the Great Apache Forest 

and the winds. All the others had been smashed 
upon the rock floor, no doubt by the Apache whom 
Rain God had trapped. There was much dry, pow- 
der-like brush scattered about, remains of the beds 
of priests of the long ago, and under a heap of it he 
had found the bow and arrows. 

‘‘Well, my old men have kept me busy all day, 
bringing up brush for their beds and wood for their 
fires, and there they are, comfortable in the kiva, 
and beginning the long and secret Rain God cere- 
monies that we hope will bring much water to our 
plantings, away out there in the desert. 

“And I ” — he cried, straightening up, clapping 
his hands together, his eyes shining — “if all goes 
well, next spring I, too, shall be a priest of the Flute 
Clan, and I shall know all the secrets of the kiva, 
and be praying for heavy rains for the gardens of 
my people.” 

“And what will your teachers say to that?” 
Hannah asked him. 

“Oh, they will be mad, very mad at me ; they will 
call me names!” 


142 


The Old Men in Rain God’s Gave 

“I don’t understand you,” I told him. ‘‘Hating 
white men’s ways and religion, as you do, why have 
you learned all that they could teach you ? ” 

He looked at me and at Hannah very earnestly 
before he answered. “I will tell you,” he said, “for 
I am sure that you two must have pity for my poor 
people. At first I did not try to learn. It then came 
to me that it would be well to understand English, 
for I could stand around and know what the whites 
were saying about my people, what more wrongs 
they planned to do them. Our priests heard about 
my intention and urged me to learn all that I could 
get out of my teachers, and from books, so that I 
can be a wise interpreter for them, for the Hopi 
people. Oh, how hard I have studied ! I have learned 
much! It is now planned that I shall become a 
priest of the Flute Clan, and then go to Washington, 
face the President, and demand that certain things 
be done for us. I shall say to him that the Constitu- 
tion of the United States guarantees religious lib- 
erty to us all, yet his Department of Indian Affairs 
forcibly takes our children from our homes and 

143 


In the Great Apache Forest 

obliges them to learn a religion that is not ours. I 
shall say to him that we want to be as free as the 
white people are. I shall ask him to recall the agent, 
and other men he has placed with us, and to order 
the different missionaries to get off from our land, 
to keep entirely away from our villages, his school- 
teachers, too, so that we People-of-Peace be left to 
the peace that is rightfully ours.’’ 

‘‘And if the President refuses — he may even re- 
fuse to see you — what then?” Hannah asked. 

He smiled. “Then I shall go to the newspaper 
men,” he answered. “I shall give them a story of 
our wrongs and of our demands that they will 
gladly print. Once the people of this great country 
read it, I am sure that our wrongs will be righted.” 

For a moment or two Hannah and I could do 
nothing but stare at one another and at the young 
Hopi; we both felt that, compared with him, we 
were but little children in our knowledge of the 
world and its ways. 

And then he said: “I am going to try you out. 
Tell me which side you take in this matter — our ^ 
144 


The Old Men in Rain God’s Cave 

side, or that of the men in Washington who force 
us to live according to their rules ? 

“Your side ! ” — “Oh, your side, of course ! ’’ we 
cried. 

“Ah! I knew that you would,” he said, clapping 
his hands. “Yes, it is just as my good, wise archaeol- 
ogist friend says. More than once he has told me 
that ours is a just plea for liberty!” 

We talked on, then, about other things, and 
finally I said to him that he had not yet told us his 
name. He laughed, and replied: “My first teachers 
gave me a name — no matter what it is; I do not 
like it. My real name is Singing Frog. 

“Ha! You laugh!” he went on, turning to Han- 
nah, and smiling, too. “Well, with us that is a very 
old and honorable name. The frog is a bringer of 
rain. With us he is sacred : no Hopi would think of 
killing one. We have a Frog Dance that is a very 
beautiful ceremony. When our gardens parch from 
want of water, our priests take our young men to 
the head of a wash, and there, after they have 
rayed Ancient Frog for water, and have sung the 

145 


In the Great Apache Forest 

song of the frog, the young men all start off down 
the wash, jumping like frogs, and rolling loose 
stones before them just as a cloudburst takes them 
rolling and grinding down. That ceremony often 
brings the rain.” 

Sister and I did not even smile when he told us 
that; we felt that it was not for us to try to talk 
him out of his strange beliefs. But mention of the 
frog brought back to me something that I had had 
in mind, and I said to him: ‘T guess you will say 
that we have done wrong, but anyhow I am going 
to tell you: we have hunted around, up on top, and 
found a lot of things, beads, arrow-points, some 
strangely carved sticks, and a turquoise frog, that 
now, since talking with you, we know must have 
been left there by your long-ago Hopi people.” And 
then I told Hannah to get the things. She brought 
them from under her bunk and spread them out on 
the table, and the Hopi gave a little cry when he 
saw the turquoise frog: ‘‘Oh, what would n’t I give 
to have one like that!” he said. “Not that one, for 
we may not take an3^hing that has been given to 
146 


The Old Men in Rain God’s Cave 

the gods. That is a piece of very ancient work, and 
is itself a perpetual prayer for rain. The sticks are 
prayer sticks, offerings to Rain God, as are the 
beads and other things.” 

“What is the white material that the turquoise 
is set in?” Hannah asked. 

“You do not know? Why, that is a cutting from 
the half of a clam-shell from the Gulf of California; 
and that made the piece all the more powerful, for 
the clam, as well as the frog, is a bringer of water. 
Some priest of the long ago valued it as he did his 
life; our people of that time must have been in 
desperate need of rain, for him to have offered it 
here with his prayers.” 

“Oh, go on; do tell us more!” Hannah begged. 

“Yes, I will,” he answered. “ I will tell you some- * 
thing that our priests never knew until it was told 
to them by my good friend — by the archaeologist 
I have mentioned. Do not ask me his name, for he 
has told me to give it to no one until I have made 
my trip to Washington, and perhaps not even then. 

“Before this great student came to us, learned 

147 


In the Great Apache Forest 

our language, and at last was invited into our kivas 
to take part in the secret ceremonies of our priests, 
this much we knew about ourselves: we knew that 
we Hopis are a mixed people; a people of different 
clans. That our main clan, the Water Clan, came 
into this country from the south long before the 
coming of the first white man, and were here in 
time joined by clans of Shoshones, from the north, 
and clans of Pueblos from the east, all seeking ref- 
uge from the Apaches and Navajos, and at last to- 
gether forming the Hopi tribe, the People-of-Peace. 
It was the greatest of these clans, the Water Clan, 
that furnished the religion for the tribe, and also 
the art of making beautiful pottery, and of weaving 
cotton cloth. The Water Clan was the last remnant 
of the numerous people who once had made irriga- 
ted gardens of the Salt River and Gila River val- 
leys, and there built large pueblos in which to live. 
I, myself, have seen the ruins of one of these, the 
Casa Grande as the whites call it, about forty miles 
east of Phoenix. The main house of that pueblo was 
four stories high, with walls of concrete six feet 
148 


The Old Men in Rain God’s Cave 

thick, and the most of it, after hundreds and hun- 
dreds of years, still stands. Safe in their great 
houses, and with full canals of water for their plant- 
ings, the people were happy, there in that hot 
country — Giant Cactus Land. And then came 
the Apaches and the Navajos and drove them 
northward, up the rivers that you call the Verde, 
the Salt, the Gila, and the Tonto. In the valleys 
they built small pueblos, and homes in the cliffs, 
constantly attacked by their enemies, until, at last, 
after several hundred years of moving and building 
and abandoning, the few who survived made their 
last stand out there in the desert, where we are to- 
day. That much we knew about ourselves. 

‘‘We know much more now. Our archaeologist 
friend tells us that away down in Old Mexico he has 
seen ruins, also named the Casas Grandes, where 
once lived the ancestors of the builders of the Gila 
River and Salt River pueblos. That he has proved 
by his finds there of pottery and other things. 
And why did our far-back fathers abandon that 
rich country ? There was good reason for it, he says. 
149 


In the Great Apache Forest 

When the first white men that entered Mexico, the 
Spaniard Cortez and his soldiers, came to the great 
city of the Aztecs and conquered it, they found 
stored there in houses twenty thousand human 
skulls, skulls of people that the Aztecs every year 
sacrificed to the sun. The Aztec warriors were, of 
course, as time went on, obliged to go farther and 
farther from home to capture people for these 
yearly sacrifices, and at last they began making 
attacks upon our fathers, and finally obliged them 
to flee from their homes and fields. 

^‘So, there you have the history of us as we know 
it. Is it not a pitiful story! From the earliest times 
down to this very day we have been a persecuted 
people, we whose one desire has been to live in 
-peace among our fields of com, and worship our 
gods as they command us to do.” 

Our friend’s face was very sad as he ended his 
tale, and Hannah and I felt sorry for him and his 
People-of-Peace. We told him that we did, but 
somehow could n’t put into words all that we felt. 
And we were glad that he had become friendly to 
ISO 


The Old Men in Rain God’s Gave 

us. He had given us a new and a true outlook: 
never again should we think that all Indians were 
la2y, worthless, treacherous, and cruel savages. The 
Apaches were all that, but the Hopis, People-of- 
Peace, why, they had many traits that some of our 
white people might well copy! 

“Well, I told you that I would stand watch for 
you to-night, and I think it is time for you to 
sleep,” our friend told us. 

“Oh, I don’t think there is any danger; that 
grub-stealing deserter has n’t the sand to make a 
night attack upon us,” I said. 

“ But Henry King is n’t the only bad man in this 
forest. I am more afraid of those I.W.W. firebugs 
than I am of him. I say that we stand watch, by 
turns, all night 1 ” cried Hannah. 

Of course we counted her out of that, and then 
our friend insisted upon taking the watch alone, 
and we went out, and sister barred the door behind 
us. We sat upon the edge of the little porch for some 
time, listening for any suspicious sounds, but heard 
none; heard nothing but the hooting of owls away 
iSi 


In the Great Apache Forest 

down in the canyons. A faint light in the east told 
us that the moon would soon appear, and my friend 
said that he would go across the little clearing and 
into the thick spruces to keep his watch. He went, 
and I turned the corner of the cabin and got into 
my bunk. 

I awoke with a start, and the feeling that all was 
not well with us. The moon was shining straight 
down into the clearing and I could plainly see all 
that part of it not shut off from me by the cabin. 
Nothing was moving there, but I had no more than 
raised up when I heard’ something behind me, 
around on the west side of the cabin; something 
moving with footsteps so light that I could barely 
hear them: ‘‘The deserter, the firebugs are here!’^ 
I thought, as I looked back over my shoulder, at 
the same time lying back upon my pillow. I don’t 
know why I did that. I just did it, and of course 
just as soon as my head struck the pillow I could 
only look straight out from me, and eastward down 
the clearing to the spruces where — if he had n’t 
fallen asleep — our friend was watching the cabin. 

IS2 


The Old Men in Rain God’s Cave’ 

And now that I was back flat upon my bed, I dared 
not sit up again, for whoever was there behind the 
cabin was no doubt looking around the corner of it, 
and would put a bullet into me the instant I started 
to rise up. No, the one thing for me to do was to lie 
perfectly still and pretend that I was asleep. The 
man then might pass me — he could not see my 
rifle that I was gripping under my coverings — 
and once his back was to me I would have the drop 
on him. If he had not come to the cabin straight 
from the west, then our Hopi watcher had already 
seen him, and we should be two against one. That 
thought helped a lot. All the same, I sure was 
scared. And now I again heard the soft footsteps. 
My heart thumped faster then than ever and my 
throat went dry. I closed my eyes so that I could 
barely see through the trembling lids. The night 
prowler was coming nearer. I fancied that I could 
hear him breathe. 


CHAPTER VIII 

The Death of Old Double Killer 

I WAS right : I could hear the prowler’s breathing 
as well as his soft footsteps. He was almost to 
the head of my bunk, and, oh, how I wanted to 
spring out of it and run for the shelter of the 
spruces, there where our Hopi was. I gritted my 
teeth together and held my breath; my eyelids 
were trembling so that I had to close them for an 
instant, and when I slightly opened them, there, 
not three feet from my head and considerably 
higher from the ground, was the head of a monster 
bear. It was turned toward me; the mean little 
eyes were staring right into my face and the wet, 
black snout was all wiggly, sniffing the air, and I 
knew at once that old Double Killer himself was 
staring at me, for no other bear’s head could be as 
large as that. The talk of our mountain hunters 
flashed through my mind, and I knew that I must 
not risk a shot at him; that my one chance to live 
154 


iThe Death of Old Double Killer 

was to lie perfectly still. And maybe that was n’t 
hard to do! Then slowly the head turned from me, 
moved forward, and the whole body of the bear 
came into view, a body as big as that of a steer, and 
covered with heavy, dark, silver-tipped fur, except 
that along the back still clung to the new growth 
some ragged patches of the winter coat. As the bear 
moved forward his fur, his whole hide heaved and 
rippled at every step. It was queer that in my ter- 
rible fear of him I should notice that. But he made 
only three or four steps, and paused, half turned 
and again stared at me, and I thought that now my 
end was surely come, that he was about to spring 
upon me. 

[ ‘"Anyhow, I ’ll die fighting,” I said to myself, and 
now gone a bit crazy, I guess, was just on the point 
of springing up and firing at him, when he suddenly 
threw up his head, made a quick whirl, and looked 
the other way. And then I saw what he did, the 
young Hopi stepping lightly toward us, with that 
old-time bow, arrow fitted, and half raised. I could 
hardly believe my eyes. If I had no chance against 
IS5 


In the Great Apache Forest 

the bear with my rifle, what chance had he with his 
old bow and stone-tipped arrows? 

My eyes were wide open now as I stared at him 
and tried to plan what I should do. I glanced at the 
bear and saw that the hair above his shoulders was 
stiffly bristling forward, like that of an angry dog. 
And then I looked back at the Indian and saw him 
stop short, raise his bow and let fly at the bear, and 
turn and run for the timber from whence he had 
come. With a roar louder and madder than the bel- 
low of a mad bull, the bear took after him, for the 
arrow had stung into him. I had distinctly heard its 
plunk. 

Inside the cabin Hannah was now crying: 
‘"George! George! Where are you? What’s the 
trouble?” 

""Quick! Open the door!” I shouted to her as I 
sprang from my bunk, and ran to the edge of the 
porch. By that time the Hopi was almost to the 
edge of the timber, and the bear was gaining upon 
him with wonderful long and quick leaps, but still 
all of forty yards behind. I raised my rifle and fired 

156 


The Death of Old Double Killer 

at the bear; and again; and a third time with more 
careful aim, and hit. With another awful roar that 
old bear suddenly squatted and twisted back and 
bit his rump where the bullet had struck into it, and 
I fired again at the dark mass of him, for at that 
distance and in the moonlight I could do no better. 
Well, what happened then was sure a surprise to 
me : with the crack of the rifle that bear just flopped 
straight out upon the ground and with never a 
roar, nor a grunt, even, jerked his legs a few times 
and lay still. 

For a moment or two I just stood there and 
stared; somehow I could n’t think straight. It was 
Hannah who brought me to my senses. 

‘‘Why, George ! You have killed him ! ” she cried. 

I had not heard her open the door, but there she 
was, wrapped in a big blanket, standing on the 
porch close beside me. “Why, I believe that I have 
killed him. And, oh, Hannah! He is old Double 
Killer!” I told her. 

“You must be mistaken; it can’t be him!” she 
said. 


In the Great Apache Forest 

I did not answer, for just then we heard strange 
singing; strange words to a queer, happy-sounding 
tune. It was our Hopi friend, singing and dancing 
from the spruces out to the bear. We ran across the 
clearing and joined him beside the body of the great 
beast. Paying no attention to us, he kept on singing 
for a moment or two, and then said: ‘‘I could not 
help it. I just had to sing that, our song of thanks 
to the gods for dangers safely passed.” 

“Danger! I should say that you were in danger! 
Why did you come running out toward this great 
bear with just your bow and arrows ? ” I cried. 

“Why, to save you! To get the bear away from 
your bunk. I thought that he was going to spring 
upon you. I was safe enough. I knew that I could 
get back here and up into one of these trees before 
he could overtake me,” he answered, as calmly as 
though what he had done was an every-day occur- 
rence. 

“Don’t think that I was asleep,” he went on. 
“The bear surely came from the west straight to 
the cabin, or I should have seen him when he en- 
IS8 


The Death of Old Double Killer 

tered the clearing. And did you notice: my un- 
feathered arrow struck him! Did n’t he roar! Let 
us see where the point went in.” 

We found the point and a couple of inches of the 
broken shaft in the bear’s right shoulder, and saw 
that my last bullet had struck into the brain close 
in front of the base of the right ear. I stepped the 
length of the carcass and found that it was a little 
more than nine feet. Then with my hands I meas- 
ured one of the hind paws : It is all of fourteen and 
a half inches!” I said. ‘‘There can be no doubt 
about it: this is old Double Killer, and no other!” 

“Yes ! And just think with that one last shot you 
earned two hundred dollars!” cried Hannah. 

“How is that? The hide can’t be worth more 
than fifty dollars,” said the Hopi. 

She told him about the reward offered by the 
cattlemen for the death of Double Killer, and why 
the bear had been so named. He turned to me: 
“How nice for you; that is a lot of money,” he 
said. 

“Nice for the three of us; we each make about 
IS9 


In the Great Apache Forest 

eighty dollars,” I answered ; and how they smiled. 

‘‘I need the money!’’ Hannah exclaimed. 

‘‘Eighty dollars will go a long way toward pay- 
ing the expense of my trip to Washington,” said 
our friend. 

In our excitement we had forgotten all about our 
two-legged enemies, but now Hannah said that we 
were running no little risk, standing there in the 
open. We agreed that there was no help for it. The 
bear had to be skinned, and at once, or the hide 
would spoil. 

Said the Hopi then: “I was tainted when I 
moved the Apache bones and the gun out of the 
kiva entrance. I cannot be worse tainted now by 
handling other whites’ things. Give me one of your 
knives and we’ll soon have this hide off.” 

Hannah brought the knives from the cabin and 
we fell to work, she standing by and keeping a 
sharp watch on all parts of the clearing. We took 
great care not to cut the hide by a slip of our knives, 
and were a long time working at the head, and skin- 
ning the feet down to the long toe nails, which we 
i6o 


The Death of Old Double Killer 

took off with the hide. Day was breaking when we 
had it free from the carcass. It was so large and 
heavy that I could not lift it alone. We spread it 
out upon the ground, flesh side up, and admired its 
great length and breadth. And then our friend said 
that we were to leave the stretching and drying of 
it to him. We folded it, rolled it up, and Hannah 
brought soap, and we went to the spring and 
washed in the outlet. Refusing to eat with us, the 
Hopi then hurried off up top to wait upon his old 
men. 

At eight o’clock, when Hannah and I got up to 
the lookout, we saw at once that the big fire had 
made considerable headway during the night. The 
forest was so dry that an army of men would be 
required to put it out, and men were not to be had 
so we learned by listening in, after I had made 
my nine o’clock report to the Supervisor. When I 
told him that we had killed old Double Killer, 
he sure was surprised, and pleased, and said that he 
would tell the secretary of the Cattle Association 
about it. 

i6i 


In the Great Apache Forest 

At ten o’clock, Mr. Keller, the secretary, called 
me up: "‘You’re sure you have potted that old 
Double Killer.^” he asked. 

“We sure have ! His hide is nine feet long, and his 
hind feet fourteen and a half inches. White spot on 
the breast; several old, healed bullet wounds in the 
carcass,” I answered. 

“Well, I guess that’s him, all right. You bring 
the hide down, when you get around to it, just for 
proof, you know, and I ’ll give you our check for the 
two hundred dollar reward that we offered for him. 
Boy, you sure have done a good job in putting an 
end to that old cattle killer. How did you have the 
sand to tackle him ? ” 

“Just had to do it, that’s all,” I answered; and 
he hung up. I had no intention to tell him about our 
Hopi friends and their strange mission to our moun- 
tain. 

The young Hopi was going down the west slope 
of the mountain for wood and water for his priests, 
so we did not see him until noon, when he came to 
us and said that he was free until evening, and 
162 


The Death of Old Double Killer 

would go down with us, when we went to lunch, 
and put in the afternoon fleshing and stretching the 
bear hide. There was a lot of meat and fat on it. 
And then, there was the carcass to be burned, the 
quickest and best way to dispose of it. When we 
asked him what his old men were doing, he replied 
that they were making a lot of prayer sticks, saying 
certain prayers, singing certain songs to Rain God, 
and trying to get revealing dreams. 

Revealing dreams Hannah questioned. 

‘‘Yes. To priests — and sometimes to others — 
are now and then given dreams by which it is 
learned what is to happen, whether of good or bad 
to the dreamer, and to the Hopi people. I know that 
you do not believe in dreams — oh, well, wise 
though white people are, there are some things — 
strange things — that they have yet to learn,’’ he 
answered. 

I made my noon report of no new fires, learned 
that the firebugs had not been found, and we went 
down to the cabin, expecting to find it ransacked, 
but saw at a glance that no more food had been 
163 


In the Great Apache Forest 

taken. We cooked some slices of ham, fried pota- 
toes, and baked a pan of biscuit, and this time, 
when Hannah asked our friend to eat with us, he 
replied that he would. 

“I am so much tainted now,’’ he said, ‘‘that 
more will make no difference. Yes, I will eat with 
you.” 

During the meal I asked him how he was going 
to stretch the bear skin. 

“You shall know when you return here this 
evening, and you will be pleased. If you have a 
spare length of rope, give it to me.” 

I pulled the rope ladder from under the bunk and 
told him to help himself. 

When Hannah and I returned to the lookout at 
one o’clock, she stood watch and I slept. Shortly 
after three o’clock she wakened me and said that 
I was wanted at the telephone, and laughed. 

“What you laughing about.? Who wants me?” 
I growled, still so sleepy that I could hardly get to 
the ’phone. She only laughed again as she handed 
me the receiver. And then I recognized the voice of 
164 


The Death of Old Double Killer 

John La Motte, an old-time mountain man and 
trapper. ‘‘That you, George Crosby? Well, consarn 
yer pictur^ what you mean by killin’ my bear, that 
there old Double Killer, an’ me after him for the 
last four years?” 

“I’m sure sorry, John,” I answered. “’Course, 
if I ’d known he was your bear, I would n’t have 
dreamed of shooting at him.” 

“Haw-haw-haw!” he roared. “But, say, all 
joshin’ aside, how on yearth did you manage to put 
it over on him?” 

“I was sleeping outside, up against the cabin 
wall, and along about two o’clock he came prowling 
along and stopped within three feet of my bunk, 
and went on a few steps and stopped and looked 
back at me, and then went on, and when h^ was 
part-way across the clearing I wounded him, and 
then put a bullet into his brain. Of course I know 
that it was only by chance that I got him — I could 
n’t aim at his head in the moonlight — ” 

“Sufferin’ cactus an’ cat’s-claws!” the old man 
broke in. “I should say ’t was a scratch! Why, boy! 

165 


In the Great Apache Forest 

It’s the greatest wonder on yearth that he did n’t 
jump you right there in your bunk! Wa’n’t you 
plumb scared?” 

“I sure was! Hardly over it now!” 

‘‘Well, seein’ ’t wa’n’t fer me to get him, I’m 
sure glad he’s your’n. Wish’t I was up your way, 
free an’ easy. ’Stead of that, here I be, roped into 
fightin’ this big fire! Fit it all night, got to fight it 
again to-night! Well, boy, you take good care of 
your bear hide — it’s sure worth a hundred dollars 
— an’ then, you get the two hundred reward. Well, 
so long, boy!” 

“Wait!” I cried. “What about the firebugs — ” 

“Them firebugs are sure slick!” he broke in. 
“The sheriff’s men and them there Apache police 
ain’t findin’ ’em. ’Course, I don’t blame the sheriff’s 
outfit — white men are no trailers. But them 
Apaches, why, boy, they can trail a deer over bare 
rocks ! They just natch’ally don’t want to find them 
outlaws, because why: they’re plumb ag’in’ law 
an’ order! Trouble amongst us whites is sure duck 
soup to them ! ” 


i66 


The Death of Old Double Killer 

‘‘Are you making any headway with the fire?” 
I asked. 

“Some. She’s sure a big one, and the forest is 
mighty dry. But if the wind don’t raise, I b’lieve 
we ’II have her out in four or five days. Well, so 
long!” 

“So long!” I answered, and hung up. 

Hannah had been standing close beside me, lis- 
tening to our talk. “The old trapper is right,” she 
said. “You have had a narrow escape from that 
terrible bear!” She shivered. 

“I know it! I sure know it!” I answered. And 
did n’t have to shut my eyes to again see that huge, 
mean-eyed head close in front of me. 

Just before five o’clock we saw our Hopi friend 
come up on top and go on to the north end of 
the mountain to wait upon his old men. How we 
wished that we might see what they were doing 
in the cave! We presently noticed a thin drift of 
smoke coming up over the crest above it, and won- 
dered how the old men could breathe when there 
was a fire in the cave. 


167 


In the Great Apache Forest 

When we got down to the cabin that evening, we 
found the bear hide stretched and laced with shreds 
of rope into a frame of four stout poles leaning 
against the north side of the cabin — extending up 
to the very peak of it. Every bit of meat and fat had 
been removed, leaving the flesh side evenly dark- 
colored and as smooth as a piece of polished wood. 
We stood admiring it for some time. I thought of 
the coyote, and wolf, and wild-cat skins I had 
stretched upon the side of our barn to dry: all 
askew, and heavy with meat and fat, and was 
ashamed of my crude work. 

^‘Just the other day,” said Hannah, ‘‘I read 
about an annual fur sale in St. Louis. I did n’t read 
it carefully, but, as I remember, grizzly bear skins 
sold for two hundred dollars. I believe we can get 
that much for ours.” 

We might, if we only knew where to send it.” 

“We must know. When we go home we’ll look 
in the papers for the addresses of fur-buyers,” she 
said. 

And from that moment the possibility of getting 

i68 


The Death of Old Double Killer 

that big sum for the hide was always in our minds. 
When the Hopi came down to us, at sunset, we told 
him about it, and I said that two hundred dollars 
seemed to be a lot of money for a bear hide, and he 
laughed : 

‘‘You have never been to Grand Canyon?^’ he 
asked. “No.^^ Well, I have, several times. There is 
always a crowd of rich people at that place, people 
who spend money as carelessly as I would take up a 
handful of sand and cast it to the winds. I once saw 
ten hundred dollars paid there for a little painting, 
just a little painting of the cliff of Oraibi, and an 
old Hopi man sitting on it and looking off at the 
desert. I saw there a large painting of the Canyon 
that was sold for twenty thousand dollars. If I had 
the bear hide there, I believe that I could sell it 
at once for twice two hundred dollars!’’ 

I ’ll bet that Hannah and I gasped when he told 
us that ! For he looked at us and laughed, and went 
on: “In the big hotel at the Canyon, one can have 
meals and a small room for about ten dollars a day, 
and better rooms with a bathroom, for twenty-five 
169 


In the Great Apache Forest 

dollars a day. The better rooms are always taken: 
that shows you how much many white people care 
for money.” 

^'You take the bear hide there and sell it, and 
send us our share of the money,” I told him. 

‘T"ll do it, just as soon as I get my old men 
safely home,” he answered. 

We had waited supper for him, and now, while 
we ate, our Indian friend told us a lot about his 
school life in the East, and the big cities he had 
seen, Chicago, New York, Philadelphia, and Wash- 
ington. He kept us so interested that we hardly 
knew what we were putting into our mouths, and 
once I mistook the salt cup for my tea cup and sure 
got a surprise. 

Later on, after we had washed the dishes, we 
asked how his old men were getting on in the cave, 
and how they managed to endure a fire in it ? 

‘‘Oh, they are doing fine, and are very happy,” 
he answered. “There is a narrow crack in the rock, 
running from the roof of the kiva into the hole go- 
ing down to the Under World, and that carries off 
170 


The Death of Old Double Killer 

the smoke. They are very comfortable in there. 
They have said many of their prayers, and sung the 
songs that go with them, and last night White Deer 
had a revealing dream: he dreamed that he was in 
a great rainstorm out upon the desert; that he saw 
heavy rain falling upon our plantings at the foot 
of the cliffs of Oraibi. That is a pretty sure sign the 
Rain God is taking pity upon us, that he will soon 
give us what water we need.” 

‘Tf he does, he will also be doing us a good turn: 
he will put out our terrible forest fires,” said Han- 
nah, with a laughing toss of her head. 

‘‘Oh, please don’t laugh at us ! ” our friend cried. 
“We do not laugh at your beliefs; we are very will- 
ing that you shall have your gods and believe in 
them, so do that much for us ! ” 

“Oh, you misunderstand me!” she told him. “I 
was n’t laughing at your beliefs. I was thinking how 
a big rain would put an end to the awful work of 
the fire-setters.” 

“That, also, my priests are praying Rain God to 
do,” he solemnly answered. 

171 


In the Great Apache Forest 

As I had had some sleep during the day, I took 
the first watch that night, while our friend slept on 
the porch, wrapped in his blanket. At midnight I 
called him, as agreed upon, and he stood watch for 
the remainder of the night. Nothing happened. 
Day came, we had an early breakfast, and then 
went up on top, Hannah and I to the lookout, the 
Hopi to his old men. We had no sooner climbed to 
the top of the little butte than we saw that the fire- 
bugs had again been busy during the night: a thick 
column of black smoke was rising from a point 
about two miles south of the big fires, and there was 
still another fire started to the west of Green’s 
Peak. And this morning there was again a brisk 
wind ! We felt blue enough as we looked down upon 
the mean work of the I.W.W. firebugs. How bold 
they were, and how cunning, setting the fires right 
where many men were constantly searching for 
them, and managing day after day to keep them- 
selves safely hidden. The telephone called me, and 
the Supervisor said: Hurry up to the lookout, 
George, and chart some new fires that are burning.” 
172 


The Death of Old Double Killer 

“We are on top. In the lookout! Wait, I’ll give 
you the readings,” I answered. 

Hannah was already at the chart stand. She 
made the sightings, told me the degrees, and I re- 
peated them. 

And then the Supervisor said, more to himself 
than to me, I thought: don’t know what to do! 
I can’t get more men, oh, this is sure terrible!” 

I wanted to ask him if there were any traces of 
the firebugs, but he rang off. Later on, we learned 
by listening in that the sheriff’s men could not find 
even a footprint of them. We went outside and sat 
for hours looking down upon the forest and trying 
to think just where the fire-setters might be hiding. 
As they were afoot, we believed that they were 
cached somewhere within five miles of the sawmill. 
But where — just where ? 

The wind that we dreaded proved to be only an 
early morning breeze; it died completely out before 
ten o’clock and the day turned warm even up where 
we were. By noon the great desert to the north was 
lost in the heat waves rising from it. We had 

173 


In the Great Apache Forest 

brought a lunch this day, and asked the young Hopi 
to share it with us. When he came, a little after 
twelve, he was very silent and anxious, we thought, 
and finally Hannah asked what was troubling him. 

He pointed to the northwest: ‘'Our poor plant- 
ings are drying up, out there! If Rain God does 
not soon answer our prayers, we shall starve!’’ he 
answered. 

“Yes. And we shall lose our forest, and starve 
along with our cattle,” I told him. 

“To-morrow is to be our great day. To-morrow 
my priests make their offerings, and sing and dance 
to Rain God, and you shall see them do it,” he said. 


CHAPTER IX 
The Bear Skin is Stolen 

W HEN Hannah and I returned to the cabin 
that evening, we found everything as we 
had left it, and thought that the deserter had made 
up his mind to make no more raids upon our little 
stock of provisions. After I had started a fire in 
the stove, we went out and admired our great bear 
skin, now almost dry — so thoroughly had it been 
fleshed and stretched. I struck it with my hand and 
it boomed like a drum. 

“ Sister, our friend can’t be right : it is n’t possible 
that any one will pay four hundred dollars for that 
hide, big though it is!” I exclaimed. 

‘T guess that we have very little idea of what 
rich people are willing to give for things that they 
want. It seems to me that people who think noth- 
ing of paying a hotel twenty-five dollars a day for 
meals and a place to sleep, will not mind four hun- 
dred for the hide. And with the reward that we are 
I7S 


In the Great Apache Forest 

to have, that will be six hundred in all, two hundred 
dollars for each of us. Oh, I never dreamed of hav- 
ing that much money of my very own! ” she said. 

We went back into the cabin and cooked supper, 
sure pleased over our good luck. Our Hopi friend 
came down just before sunset, and we all sat up to 
the table and ate and talked, and were just plumb 
happy. Our friend told us more about Grand Can- 
yon and the rich people who visited it. A few of 
them, he said, seemed to appreciate what a won- 
derful place it was, but many just said: ‘‘Some cut, 
isn’t it! Well, IVe seen it, anyhow!” And then 
they would hurry from the rim back to the hotel to 
talk and eat and smoke and dance. Dancing — 
silly dancing — was more to them than looking 
down at that most wonderful sight in all the world. 
Some of those dancing women wore dresses that 
cost all of a thousand dollars each; and diamond 
necklaces and rings worth all the way up to fifty 
thousand dollars. 

And at that Hannah cried out, “Oh, it does n’t 
seem possible that there are women so rich as that ! ” 
176 


The Bear Skin is Stolen 

*‘But it is so/’ our friend answered. ‘‘And more 
than that, there is a woman in Philadelphia — I 
have seen her — she once came to our Carlisle 
school — who owns over a million dollars worth of 
diamonds and pearls ! ” 

“I guess that we may get four hundred for our 
bear hide,” I said. 

“Five hundred, maybe,” said our friend. And 
we saw that he meant it. 

' Hannah and I were very happy that night, plan- 
ning what we should do with all the money that we 
were soon to have. 

Again our Hopi friend and I divided the night 
watch. Nothing happened. We had an early break- 
fast, cooked by Hannah, and then, after washing 
the dishes and packing a pail of lunch, we hurried 
up the trail, the Hopi to his old men and Hannah 
and I to the lookout. There had been no wind dur- 
ing the night, so we had hoped to find that the fires 
were, anyhow partly, under control. Not only were 
they burning as fiercely as ever; we saw at a glance 
that two more had been started during the night, 

177 


In the Great Apache Forest 

both of them between the sawmill and the edge of 
the desert, and about a mile apart. Our hearts were 
sure heavy as we looked off at that wicked burning 
of our forest, and when I reported, at nine o’clock, 
the Supervisor’s voice had a weary, hopeless sound 
as he answered: "‘Yes, George, I know just where 
the new fires are, you need n’t chart ’em. Boy, if we 
don’t soon get rain we shall lose all this end of the 
forest!” 

“No use asking if the firebugs have been found ? ” 
I said. 

“No. Don’t ask! ” he grimly answered, and rang 
off. 

Shortly before ten o’clock our friend came up on 
to the crest of the summit, advancing toward us 
and waving his hands, and we soon met him. 

“My old men have taken a liking to you two,” 
he said. “Only my archaeologist friend, of all the 
whites, has seen this Rain God ceremony, but just 
now, just as I was about to ask that you might see 
it. White Deer told me to come for you. Are n’t you 
glad ? ” 


178 


The Bear Skin is Stolen 

Dear, kind old men, my heart goes out to them, 
to all the Hopi people,” Hannah answered for 
us. 

“Would that all the whites were of the same 
heart as you!” he said. 

We walked on along the crest of the mountain, 
passed the cave hole, thirty or forty yards down the 
west slope, and came to a stand. Our friend said 
that we should there be quite close to the old men 
when they came up on top from the kiva. We seated 
ourselves upon some slabs of rock and waited for 
their coming. Our friend called our attention to 
Escodilla Mountain, thirty or forty miles to the 
east at the edge of New Mexico, its long high crest 
ending abruptly almost at the desert’s edge, and 
said that the Zuhi Indians went to its summit to 
pray for rain. Their pueblo in the desert was not 
more than a hundred miles north and west of the 
mountain. Hundreds of years back they had lived 
in the valley of the Little Colorado, and by means 
of their irrigating ditches had raised fine harvests 
of corn and other things. And then they, like the 
179 


In the Great Apache Forest 

Hopi people, had been driven out into the desert by 
the Apaches and Navajos. 

A slight disturbance of the rock caused us to turn 
suddenly and look the other way, and Hannah and 
I almost cried out at what we saw: the four old men 
coming up on to the summit from the cave hole, but 
apparently old men no more. They came stepping 
lightly up like so many boys, and, except for their 
moccasins, and broad-aproned breech clout — 
blue-black, with red, zigzag stripes, symbol of the 
lightning — were perfectly naked. Their bodies 
were painted a dull red. 

All in line they came up on to the summit, not 
fifty yards from us, came to a sudden stop and 
raised their hands to the sky, and White Deer made 
a short prayer — to the sky gods, our friend whis- 
pered. They then looked down and prayed to the 
gods of the Under World, and in turn faced the 
east, the west, the north, and the south, saying a 
short prayer in each direction. That done, they be- 
gan to sing, and, oh, what a strange, low, sad song 
it was. I can’t begin to say how it affected Hannah 
i8o 


The Bear Skin is Stolen 

and me. I saw tears in her eyes, and I think that 
there were some in mine. Our friend was holding a 
hand to his eyes, and his lips were moving — in 
prayer, I thought. 

The song ended, and the old men danced to the 
east to an accompaniment of lighter song, and then 
to the three other points of the compass, at last 
sitting down to rest. 

“Soon begin their heavy prayers! You shall see! 
Oh, they are going to pray hard to Rain God,” said 
our friend. 

“ Can’t you tell us a little of what they will say ? ” 
Hannah asked. 

“Yes, a little of it. They will cry to him : ‘O pow- 
erful god, have pity upon us, your Hopi people! 
Look down upon our paintings: see how the short 
sprouts of corn fade and the leaves of the squash 
vines droop! O powerful Rain God, spread your 
cloud-blanket above them, make it leak plentifully 
down upon them ! Soak the earth plentifully with 
your water, O powerful one, so that our plants shall 
have full growth ! Do this for us soon, powerful one, 
l8i 


In the Great Apache Forest 

else our little ones, our women, we ourselves die 
upon our desert cliffs from want of food!’ There! 
that is some of the first prayer they will say.” 

The old men arose, stood facing the east, and 
White Deer began the prayer, the others at times 
joining in it. They then sang for a time, danced, 
said more prayers, and when almost out of breath, 
sat down for another rest, and kept looking up in 
all directions at the sky. All the morning flocks of 
small, fleecy white clouds had been drifting slowly 
southwestward, and now they had merged, most of 
them, into several clouds of great extent, white- 
edged, dark in the center, and turning darker and 
drifting ever so slowly around the summit of our 
mountain, and Mount Ord, close to the west. And 
presently a flash of lightning leaped from the cloud 
close above us and just south of the lookout, and 
then came a loud rumble of thunder. The old men 
leaped to their feet, raised their hands toward the 
cloud, and all four went wild with excitement, 
shouting, singing, praying, dancing, repeatedly 
raising their hands and then dropping them, fingers 
182 


The Bear Skin is Stolen 

down extending, a most suggestive sign for falling 
rain. 

Our friend became as excited as they were. He, 
too, stared up at the big cloud coming nearer, at 
other clouds slowly drifting toward it from the east 
and north, prayed in a voice that became more and 
more tense, occasionally turning to us and whisper- 
ing hoarsely: 

“Rain God is coming!’^ 

“He has heard our prayers! He accepts our offer- 
ings!” 

“Oh, my friends! Rain God is good! He is going 
to water our poor gardens !” This last after another 
flash of lightning and a peal of thunder almost over 
our heads. 

And at that those old men just about went crazy: 
they trembled as they cried out their appeals and 
waved their hands to the cloud. And, yes, I Ve just 
got to say it: Hannah and I became tremendously 
excited too. Of course, we did n’t believe that those 
poor old men were bringing the rain, if rain were 
really coming, but we could no more help sharing 

183 


In the Great Apache Forest 

in their hopes and fears than we could help breath- 
ing. And we wanted rain as badly as they did, driv- 
ing downpours of rain to put out the forest fires; to 
give life to our planted fields and the grass of our 
cattle range; and to put an end to the awful work 
of the fire-setters ! A sudden shock of cold rain in 
our faces brought us to our senses, but increased 
the old men’s wild appeals to the sky, and our 
friend said to us : Go ! Run to your little place over 
there. I will join you as soon as my old men go back 
into the kiva.” 

We ran, circling past the old men and on along 
the crest up to the lookout, thunder and lightning 
booming and flashing all around us, and the rain 
becoming more and more heavy. We were quite wet 
when we got into the shelter of the station. I turned 
straight to the telephone, and when I reported the 
storm, the Supervisor shouted: ‘‘Good! Good! I 
hope it will rain a week!” 

We built a fire in the little stove and waited for 
our Hopi friend to come to us. The thunder and 
lightning ceased; a great cloud rested upon the 
184 


The Bear Skin is Stolen 

mountain and darkened the day; the rain came 
steadily down: it was killing the forest fires. We 
were very happy. 

“Oh ! Our bear skin : the rain will spoil it ! ” Han- 
nah suddenly exclaimed. 

“No, it is so well stretched that it will not be 
hurt — not if we keep the sun from it while it 
dries,” I told her. And, anyhow, I planned to cover 
it with what canvas we had. 

The telephone was now every few minutes ring- 
ing the office, and we listened in. Green’s Peak, 
Nutrioso, Escodilla, Alpine, and the far-south sta- 
tions of the Blue Range, were all reporting heavy 
rain. The storm was general, not local. It would 
surely last long enough to put out the fires. We 
waited impatiently for our Hopi friend to come, so 
that we could tell him the good news. 

He came, a half-hour later, and smilingly stood 
and looked in at us through the open door: “Come 
in ! Come in out of the wet ! ” I called to him. 

“But I want to be wet!” he answered. “I want 
the rain to soak into me, for then I just feel that it is 
I8S 


In the Great Apache Forest 

soaking into our gardens out there in the desert. Oh, 
are n’t my old priests powerful! They brought this 
rain: Rain God could not refuse their prayers and 
prayer offerings 1 ” 

“We have been listening to the telephone reports : 
rain is falling all over this great forest,” sister told 
him. 

“Yes! Of course it is! Did you think that my 
priests prayed for just one little place They asked 
for plenty for the whole country. They prayed and 
prayed Rain God to put out the forest fires as well 
as to give new life to our plantings ! ” 

“And what are they doing now.f^” I asked. 

“Feasting, there in the kiva. Smoking sacred 
cigarettes. Singing their song of thanks to Rain 
God!” he answered. 

“Well, let us go down to the cabin and feast, 
too,” Hannah proposed. 

“But we have a lunch here,” I said. 

“Oh, who wants to eat that dry bacon and 
bread ! We shall have a real feast. I shall bake a 
cake; a chocolate cake!” she exclaimed. 

i86 


The Bear Skin is Stolen 

So, out we went Into the rain, carefully closing 
the door behind us, and down the trail we ran, 
splashing through little streamlets of water every- 
where cascading down the steep mountain-side, our 
Hopi friend pausing to dance a few steps in the 
larger ones, and singing the while a quaint and 
lively little air that was very pleasant in our ears. 
And then, coming to the clearing, we raced across 
it, and at the cabin porch came to a sudden stand 
and stared at the open door — that we had care- 
fully locked that morning — and at a litter of odds 
and ends upon the floor. 

Hannah ran to the corner of the cabin: ^‘The 
bear hide is gone!” she shrieked. 

We joined her and stared at the empty frame; at 
the cut rope lacings strewing the ground. 

“Henry King has been here again! He is the one 
who has our bear hide, the mean deserter! Cow- 
ard ! ” Hannah cried. 

I was so angry that I could n’t speak. I turned 
and led into the cabin, and we stared at the wreck 
of it: not a sack of our flour, corn meal, beans, rice, 

187 


In the Great Apache Forest 

and other things remained in the open food chest. 
The bacon and ham sacks were gone; the table had 
been swept clean of the eatables we had left upon it. 
All of Hannah’s blankets had been taken, and her 
canvas bed cover. Her comb and brush and little 
mirror, too, and my box of 30--30 cartridges. I ran 
outside to my bunk and found that it had been 
stripped ! 

. ‘‘One man could n’t have packed off all our stuff; 
no, nor two: those LW.W. firebugs have done this 
and Henry King brought them here,” I said when 
I went back inside. 

“One man could have loaded it all upon a horse,” 
said our Hopi friend. 

“Yes. But that deserter, those firebugs, are not 
using horses. Horses leave tracks; they can easily 
be trailed,” I said. 

“That is so. Those men would not use them. 
Well, what are you going to do?” 

“We have no food but the lunch that we 
put up; what can we do but go home?” cried 
Hannah. 


188 


The Bear Skin is Stolen 

“That is the only thing for us to do. The rain has 
already washed out all tracks of the thieves, we 
can’t follow them, and we can’t stay here and 
starve,” I said. 

“What? Go home! Let those bad men get away 
with our bear hide? Oh, no! no! We must have it 
back from them. You have no food, you say ? Why, 
there is plenty of food up here: my old men have 
quite a lot of corn meal and pinole,^ and there are 
plenty of deer: every evening I see them grazing at 
the edge of the timber under the north end of the 
mountain,” our Hopi friend exclaimed, and, oh, 
how his eyes were flashing! 

“But if we have the food, what then? how can 
we get back the bear hide?” I asked. 

“Wait ! Let my old men talk to you about that,” 
he answered. “They said something the other day 
— only a few words — they were busy with their 
prayers, but I ’II bring them here. You shall hear 
them!” And with that he was out of the door and 
splashing up the little clearing. 

1 Wheat parched, and then coarsely ground. 

189 


In the Great Apache Forest 

Hannah proposed that we telephone the Super- 
visor what had happened to us, but I decided that 
we should not do so before hearing what the old 
Hopi men had to say. We had brought our lunch 
back with us from the lookout, and now each took a 
third of it, leaving the remainder for our friend. 
Soon after we finished eating — and the dry bread 
and bacon now sure tasted good — we heard the 
little party slopping their way to us across the 
clearing. Our friend led the old men up on to the 
tiny porch — where they dropped their various 
belongings, and then, old White Deer leading, they 
came inside, and one by one gravely shook hands 
with us. 

And then the leader said to us, our friend inter- 
preting, of course: 

We are glad to shake hands with you, you two 
of good heart. We are glad to come into your house, 
now that we have brought the rain and are free to 
do as we please.” 

‘‘We are very glad to have you here. But you 
must be wet through. Hang up your blankets along 
190 


The Bear Skin is Stolen 

the wall to dry, and sit here before the stove,” I 
answered. 

‘‘Yes. We will sit with you for a time,” the old 
man said; “but as to our blankets, we ourselves, we 
men weave them, and so tight that water does not 
go through them. We are dry enough.” 

They took seats then, two upon the food chest 
and the others upon boxes, and Hannah and I 
perched ourselves upon the bunk. No one spoke for 
some time. The rain continued to beat upon the 
iron roof. At last, quite to our surprise. White Deer 
arose and again shook sister’s hand and mine. He 
then stood off a little way, threw back his blanket, 
and said to us — a sentence or two at a time as the 
interpreter nodded to him to proceed: 

“Generous youth and girl: From day to day our 
young helper has told us of your troubles, but, busy 
with that we have come so far to do, we had no 
time for more than a few words together, now and 
then, about what we learned. It was with sad hearts 
that we looked out upon the great fires below, set 
by bad white men with intent to destroy this great 
191 


In the Great Apache Forest 

forest, Rain God’s garden. Yes. These mountain 
slopes are his garden, these great trees his plant- 
ings, their fine growth the result of his plentiful 
waterings. When our long-ago fathers came here 
every spring to pray and sacrifice to Rain God, 
they would no more have destroyed one of these 
trees than they would have destroyed themselves. 
And so we feel about it, and have prayed that the 
bad fire-setters be themselves destroyed. 

^"When our young helper told us that he was to 
have a share in the selling of the hide of the great 
bear that you killed, he made us very happy. We 
said to one another that the money he would get 
from that would be clean money, and enough, per- 
haps, for him to pay his way when he goes to ask 
the great white chiefs to free us, to ask that we be 
no longer slaves. And now that valuable bear hide 
is gone, gone with your food and your blankets, 
taken by these same destroyers of Rain God’s 
beautiful garden! 

‘‘Can the hide, and your different things be re- 
covered ? Perhaps they can. When our young helper 
192 


The Bear Skin is Stolen 

told US that white seizer-men, and Apache seizers, 
were hunting day after day for the fire-setters, 
and could not find them, we did not say much, but 
we kept that in mind. Morning after morning when 
we came up out of the kiva and saw fresh fires, and 
still more fires burning, we said that the fire-setters 
were in hiding somewhere near them, and in a 
place where the blaze of their own fires, their cook- 
ing fires, could not be seen, nor they themselves 
be caught while they slept, as sleep they must, at 
times. 

*"In our kivas out there in the desert, the old 
priests are ever instructing the new ones, not only 
in religion, but in the whole history of our people. 
So it is that we knew just how to come to this 
sacred mountain, knew the trail as well as though 
we had traveled it many times. And we know, just 
as well as though we had seen them, many places 
along this range of mountains that our people 
visited in the long ago. One of those places is a 
great cave ; a cave so large, running so far into the 
mountain slope that, without a light, one could 

193 


In the Great Apache Forest 

easily become lost in it and never find his way out. 
That cave is down there where those fires are burn- 
ing. We believe that it is about halfway between the 
farthest east fire and the one farthest west. Now, 
perhaps you two know that cave ? 

‘‘Let me question you,” he went on. “North 
from here, and not far from the edge of the desert, 
is a long, double butte, bare on top ; and west of it, 
and also near the desert, is a higher butte with a 
very sharp top. Is that not so.f^” 

“Yes. The one farthest west is Green’s Peak, the 
other is Poll Knoll.” 

“Good. We have our own names for them, but 
that does not matter now. I ask you : About half- 
way between those buttes is there not a small creek 
running out from the forest and ever being swal- 
lowed by the thirsty desert?” 

“There is. We call it Conaro Creek.” 

“And just after it runs out of the forest does it 
not go down over three broken ledges of rock quite 
a ways apart, the middle ledge much the highest of 
the three ? ” 


194 


The Bear Skin is Stolen 

And when that had been interpreted to us, Han- 
nah and I sure stared at one another, and at him: 
he had described the place exactly. We both cried 
out: ‘‘Three ledges are there!” — “The center 
ledge is the highest I ” 

The old men all smiled, nodded to one another, 
and White Deer concluded: “At the foot of the 
center ledge, a short distance — a hundred steps — 
west of the creek, is the entrance to the cave.” 

“But we have been there many times! There is 
no cave hole in the ledge. There can’t be, or we 
should have seen it!” I said. 

“No, you would not have seen it unless you were 
carefully hunting for it. The entrance is small, only 
one man can pass in at a time, and it is well hidden: 
willows grow thickly all around it.” 

“But if we have never found it — we nor our 
people who have always lived here — it is n’t likely 
that the fire-setters have found it,” I said. 

“They are just the kind of men that would find 
it,” the old man answered. “The growth of willows 
near the water, the bare rocks all around to hold 
I9S 


In the Great Apache Forest 

not the least trace of their goings and comings, why, 
they would have run to it as soon as they saw it, 
and, once into the willows, of course they found the 
cave! Do not laugh, do not doubt: We just know 
that those bad men have their hiding-place in that 
cave ! ” 

"‘And if that is so, what then?” 

“Trap them ! Roll two or three big rocks into 
the entrance and trap them!” he answered. 

And just then Hannah gave a little cry and 
pointed to the shelf on the wall above the table: 
“Look! Our lamp is gone, and our candles!” she 
said. 

I sprang from the bunk and looked behind the 
food chest: “Yes, and our can of coal oil too!” I 
cried. “The thieves are living in the cave: in the 
open, a fire would give all the light they want!” I 
turned to our young friend: “We are a weak outfit 
— shall we try to trap them? ” I asked. 

“Let us find out if they surely are in the cave,” 
he answered. 

“That’s a go! We’ll do it!” I told him. 

196 


CHAPTER X 
Catching the Firebugs 

R ight then and there we held a council of 
war, and decided that I was to tell as little as 
possible of our troubles and our plans. I then went 
to the telephone and called the Supervisor: “How 
about it — I suppose the rain has already killed the 
fires?’’ 

“All but the dead, pitchy trees and logs; they 
are still burning,” he answered. 

“But they will soon burn out. We are out of pro- 
visions. May I have a couple of days off, to go for 
some?” 

“Yes! Sure! The forest is already so well soaked 
that those firebugs can’t do any more damage for a 
time, two days, anyhow.” 

“All right ! We’ll leave here early in the morning. 
I don’t have to ring you up again, do I ? ” 

“No. This is Tuesday. I give you off from now 
until Friday evening. You be back to your station 
at that time and ring me up. Good-bye!” 

197 


In the Great Apache Forest 

So, there we were, free from that moment, and 
for three days., When the old men were told what 
had been said. White Deer remarked that my forest 
chief must be a good man. None but men of good 
heart would be watchers of Rain God’s gardens. 
And there were others: the whites who studied the 
work of the people of the long ago, and those who 
raised crops of grain, and raisers of cattle and 
horses. They were just like the Hopis: they at- 
tended strictly to their own business; were never 
telling others how they must live, and what gods 
they must worship ! 

The rain showed no signs of stopping, and as the 
afternoon wore on, we told the Hopis that they 
were welcome to remain in our cabin for the night. 
They refused to do that, saying that they would 
make a shelter of brush under a spruce tree and be 
dry and comfortable. They then opened their sacks 
and gave us a good portion of their corn meal and 
pinole, and went out to build their shelter. Later 
on, at about five o’clock, the young Hopi and I 
started up the mountain to try to kill a deer. I had 
198 


Catching the Firebugs 

seen the little band of them feeding evenings and 
early mornings, as well as he. They were generally 
on the east slope, and just above the timber line, 
at the north end of the mountain. So, instead of 
following the trail up on top, we turned off from it 
and quartered northward up the slope and soon 
neared the feeding-place. Rain was still falling; 
wisps of fog drifted past us through the trees; al- 
though the sun was still nearly three hours from 
setting, night seemed to be right upon us. There 
was a little better light when we arrived at the edge 
of the timber and looked out upon the grass slope, 
and saw no deer, and were disappointed. I said that 
they might not come out to feed on such a rainy 
evening, and he laughed softly: “No matter what 
the weather is, they have to eat ! ” he answered. 

Just then a very heavy bank of fog came drifting 
past us, and he plucked my sleeve: “Come. We go 
with it ! ” he said. I did not understand what he in- 
tended to do, but I followed; out into the open and 
quartering up toward the end of the summit, only 
two or three hundred yards away; and now it was 
199 


In the Great Apache Forest 

SO dark that we could no more than see where to 
put our feet. We presently stumbled up against a 
thick bunch of stunted alder brush and he pulled 
me down beside him in the lower edge of it; the fog 
bank cleared and I saw that we were in the center 
of the open slope. 

“Most white men and some Indians are poor 
hunters,” said my friend. “They trail around, and 
around, and the deer, ever watchful, see them first, 
and with a few jumps are gone from sight. Good 
hunters learn where the game goes to feed, and to 
drink, and then they go to that place and sit 
quietly, patiently, for the game to come to them ! ” 

“I will remember that,” I told him. And had no 
more than spoken, when, straight down from us, 
four deer came stringing up out of the timber, two 
of them very large bucks, the others about two- 
year-olds. They scattered out, moving with quick 
steps from one patch of brush to another and nip- 
ping off the green and tender tips and leaves, and 
coming always nearer to us. My friend had not 
brought his ancient bow, because he had been un- 


200 



I TOOK A CAREFUL SIGHT AT ONE OF THE BIG BUCKS 



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Catching the Firebugs 

able to find any feathering for the arrows, and be- 
cause the rain would have wet the bowstring and 
made it sag. I whispered to him to take my rifle — 
to make the shot. He smiled and refused with a 
quick, out motion of his hand. I took a careful sight 
at one of the big bucks, broadside to me, and when 
I pulled the trigger, he keeled over backward, 
rolled down the slope a few yards, and lay still 
against a rock. The others stared at him for a mo- 
ment, and then made for the timber with high, stiff 
jumps. 

An hour later we returned to the cabin with all 
the meat that we could carry, and then two of the 
old men came with us and we brought in all the rest 
of it. During our second trip up the mountain, 
Hannah had made a large cake of corn meal and 
water, and, regardless of the rain, brought in a few 
dry quaking aspen poles and chopped them into 
right lengths for the stove. We filled the firebox 
with these, and when they had burned to a mass 
of red coals, we removed the stone top and broiled 
some loin steaks of the deer over them. Maybe that 


201 


In the Great Apache Forest 

was n’t a good supper! Juicy venison and corn- 
meal cake sure were a feast to us. And we had 
music with it : through the open door there came 
up to us, clear and soft, the singing of the old men 
in their camp down by the spring. They were evi- 
dently very happy. A little later, when our friend 
came up to us, he said that the songs were sacred 
ones ; that the old men had been praying and sing- 
ing to the gods, giving thanks for the rain, asking 
that it continue, and that we all might survive 
danger of eveiy kind, and capture the bad men and 
recover the bear hide. 

We now built a big fire close in front of the little 
roofed porch, and in the course of a couple of hours 
thoroughly dried ourselves before it. And while we 
did that we tried to talk of many things, but always 
came back to the loss of our bear hide and the 
meanness of the men who had taken it. It meant so 
much to us all, that silver-tipped hide: To our 
friend, the means of carrying out his mission for his 
people. To Hannah and me, more money than we 
had ever seen at one time in all our lives ; money for 


202 


Catching the Firebugs 

Liberty bonds ; for the Red Cross ; and for some nice 
Christmas presents to send to our Uncle Cleveland, 
fighting the Huns in far-away France. And think- 
ing and talking of him made us hate all the more 
the mean deserter, Henry King, and the terrible 
LW.W. fire-setters. And were we really about to 
trap them in that cave at the edge of the desert I It 
did n’t seem possible that we could have such good 
luck. More and more I doubted that the outlaws 
had found the place, but more and more stoutly our 
friend insisted that they had found it. ‘H can’t 
explain how my old priests have the power,” he 
said, ‘‘but this much I know: it is given them to see 
things that only they can see. They say that the 
bad white men are in that cave; without doubt 
they are there!” 

It was all of ten o’clock when our friend went 
back to his old men. As soon as he had gone, Han- 
nah put on her heavy coat and lay down upon the 
boughs in her bunk, and I stretched out on the 
floor. We awoke three or four times during the 
night, and each time I got up and built a fresh fire 
203 


In the Great Apache Forest 

in the stove, for we were very cold. Rain fell stead- 
ily until near morning, when it began to come down 
with driving gusts of wind, a sure sign, we thought, 
that the storm was about over. It did pass a little 
later, and the sun came up in a partly cloudy sky. 

During our wakeful hours we had talked a lot 
about our plan to capture the outlaws. It seemed 
to be a terribly risky venture, and I told Hannah 
that she had better keep out of it; that we should 
take her home, and get Uncle John, and maybe one 
or two other men to go on with us to the Conaro 
Creek cave. 

‘‘Yes, I see you going there after mother and 
Uncle John learn about this ! she exclaimed. “And 
as to myself, have n’t I my automatic and can’t 
I shoot it ? I am going to that old cave with you ! ” 

Well, that settled it. I told her that she should go 
with us. And then, when morning came and the sun 
shone and all was bright and clear, I thought our 
plan not near so desperate as it had seemed in the 
dark night. In fact, not at all desperate: we could 
certainly take care of ourselves. 

204 


Catching the Firebugs 

We had more broiled meat and corn cake for 
breakfast; then washed the dishes, swept out the 
cabin, locked the door, and sat on the porch waiting 
for our friends to appear. They soon came up from 
their camp, each one with his little pack, and we all 
went up on to the summit, and along it to the north 
end of the mountain. As we were passing the cave 
hole, the old men called a halt, and White Deer told 
our young friend that he had a few words for us: 

^‘You two of good heart,” he said, ‘‘although 
this place is nothing to you, it is very sacred to us, 
as you have learned. You have seen what a very 
powerful place it is : that here, through our prayers 
and offerings to Rain God, we have brought rain, 
heavy rain, and saved our plantings out there in 
the desert. So, to us this kiva here in the mountain 
is a very sacred place. As we found it so have we 
left it, putting back into the passage the broken 
roof rock just as Rain God dropped it there. And 
now we ask you not to remove that rock, not to go 
into that place, lest by doing so you make our god 
angry with us, and with you, too. He might make 

205 


In the Great Apache Forest 

you prisoners there, as he did the Apache, whose 
bones we found.” 

‘‘We shall do as you ask,” I promptly answered. 

“Yes. Of course we shall ! ” said Hannah. 

And then how the old men smiled as they one by 
one shook hands with us. 

We went on to the end of the mountain and 
looked off at the forest and the great desert beyond. 
The black burnings were dead ; not a wisp of smoke 
was rising from them. Away to the north the Hopi 
buttes were hidden in a great cloud bank, and 
nearer cloud masses were dropping rain. The old 
men clapped their hands and pointed off to it, talk- 
ing excitedly, and our friend told us that they were 
saying that Rain God was very good to them ; that 
he was continuing to soak their gardens. 

Pointing then to a little lake to the northwest, 
and almost at the edge of the timber. White Deer 
asked me if it was not the head of the creek of the 
great cave? I answered that it was. 

“And just a little way from the lake the creek 
drops down a very steep and rocky slope, then runs 
206 


Catching the Firebugs 

through a narrow slope of timber, and then over the 
three ledges and out into the desert. Am I not 
right?’’ 

^‘It runs just as you say it does,” I told him. 

“You see how we of the kivas keep knowledge of 
places : none of us have ever been to that creek, nor 
our fathers nor grandfathers, yet we know it as well 
as though we had been along it many times!” he 
said. 

He pointed to a large, shining lake midway 
between us and Conaro Lake. “But I do not un- 
derstand about that water,” he went on. “Our 
description of this Rain God garden makes no 
mention of it. It can’t be that it is the gathering of 
last night’s rain.” 

“It isn’t,” I told him. “White men who live 
away down the river built a dam there, and so 
made the lake. When they need water for their 
plantings they let the water run down into the 
river, and from it into their ditches.” 

“Ah! That explains it!” he exclaimed, clapping 
hands together with a loud smack. And then, sadly : 

207 


In the Great Apache Forest 

“Our people once had ditches; water in plenty for 
their large gardens!’^ 

We planned our route to Conaro Lake : Down the 
long ridge running from the mountain almost to the 
big prairie in which is the reservoir; past its south 
side and again into the timber and straight on to 
our destination. Our young friend said that I must 
kill a duck for him at the reservoir, so that he could 
have some feathering for his arrows. 

The end of the mountain was so abrupt that we 
did not dare try to go down it; we turned down the 
west slope almost to the timber, and then went on 
around to the ridge. It was bare for nearly a half- 
mile, and the soft ground was all cut up with deer 
tracks, nearly washed out by the rain. As soon as 
we entered the timber we had hard going; wind- 
falls that were breast-high tangles of logs and 
branches, one after another for all of two miles, 
down to the lower edge of the spruce belt. We then 
had fine footing down through the open pine and 
fir timber to the prairie, which we struck at noon. 
We went straight out across it to the reservoir, and 
208 


Catching the Firebugs 

found it covered with ducks of all kinds, old and 
young. I shot a drake mallard, and our young 
friend waded out for it, and, stripping some of the 
larger wing feathers, began work on his arrows. The 
old men opened their sacks, produced some roasted 
meat, and we had lunch. Our young friend finished 
feathering his arrows, and, gathering and tightly 
binding a wad of grass about a foot in diameter, set 
it on top of a bush and fired three arrows at it from 
a distance of about thirty yards: all three of them 
plunked into it. We thought that wonderful shoot- 
ing, and said so. 

‘Tf we find those bear-hide stealers, watch what 
I do to them!” he grimly answered. 

We were about to go on when we saw five riders 
come into the north edge of the prairie, pause for a 
moment, and then start ’loping straight toward us; 
and even at that distance, by the way they sat 
their horses, and quirted them, we knew them for 
what they were, Apaches. 

‘‘We must not show that we are afraid of them. 
We will not fear them I ” our young friend exclaimed, 
209 


In the Great Apache Forest 

and turned about to sit facing their approach, as 
did Hannah and I, she taking her automatic from 
its holster and concealing and holding it in a fold of 
her dress. Our young friend re-strung his bow, and 
held it and several arrows across his lap, as I did my 
rifle. As the riders neared us we made out that four 
of them wore the blue uniform of the reservation 
police, the other, khaki trousers and a red calico 
shirt, and that they were armed with Government 
carbines and revolvers. They rode close up in front 
of us, brought their horses to a quick stand and 
stared down at us, and we returned their stare, and 
outstared them. Even in the excitement of the 
moment I noticed how different they were from 
our kindly and intelligent featured friends. Their 
faces were coarse and cruel ; their bodies short and 
heavy upon spindly bow legs; and what mean, 
shifty little eyes they had, sunk deep in the edge 
of low, retreating foreheads ! 

Said one of them in broken English, when, as it 
seemed, he could no longer endure our steady 
stare: ‘‘What you doin’?” 


210 


Catching the Firebugs 

“You see what we are doing: resting,” I an- 
swered. 

"‘Where you come from?” 

“From our place.” 

“Where you goin’ ? ” 

“Wherever we choose to go,” I answered. 

“White boy, you think you smart! What you 
doin’ with old Hopi men — old prairie dogs ? ” 

. “Here, you, don’t you call us that again!” our 
young friend cried, springing up and facing him 
menacingly. 

The other did not answer. He looked shiftily at 
me, at Hannah, and talked with his companions. 
And how their language grated in our ears; how 
different it was from the soft, pleasant-sounding 
Hopi tongue. It was natural, I thought, that cruel, 
bloodthirsty people should have a harsh, cruel- 
sounding language. 

Presently the Indian again turned to me: “We 
huntin’ hims set fires in timber. I guess you hims. 
You come ’long! I ’rest you all!” 

“I guess you won’t ! ” I told him, and pulled from 


211 


In the Great Apache Forest 

my pocket my Forest Service badge. ‘‘Do you see 
that ? I am a fireguard ! That is my station, up there 
on that big mountain. Just you go on wherever you 
are going. If you want those fire-setters, I am sure 
that you know where to find them ! 

• At sight of my badge all five of the party were 
noticeably surprised. Again they talked together, 
and suddenly put quirt to their horses and started 
past us. The last in line was he of the khaki overalls, 
and as he rode past us he spit at the old Hopi men 
and hissed hard words. They pretended not to 
notice his insult. 

Without once looking back at us, the Apaches 
went on south toward their reservation, and dis- 
appeared in the timber, but we felt quite sure that 
they would stop in the edge of it and watch our 
movements. So, instead of going on northwest, we 
changed our course to northeast, as though we were 
heading for home, for Greer. And after we had 
crossed the big prairie, we stopped a long time in 
the timber and watched for the Apaches to come 
back upon our trail. They did not appear, and at 


212 


Catching the Firebugs 

two o’clock we circled on through the timber and 
then turned straight toward Conaro Lake, often 
pausing and watching to learn if we were being 
trailed. We made sure that we were free from that, 
but the old men were very uneasy. 

Said old White Deer: “Those blue coats will tell 
that they have seen us, and some of their brother 
sneaking-killers will soon be coming after our 
heads!” 

“Oh, I don’t believe they will dare do that,” I 
said. 

“But you don’t understand,” he replied. “The 
whites are so powerful that the Apaches fear to 
kill one of them. They know that they can kill the 
poor Hopis as they do deer, and with no more fear 
of punishment.” 

It was five o’clock when we looked out upon 
Conaro Lake from the timber. It was black with 
quacking ducks; seven big turkey gobblers were 
chasing grasshoppers along its near, grassy shore; 
and at its far end a doe with two fawns was drink- 
ing. We watched them for a few minutes and then 
213 


In the Great Apache Forest 

I led on, across the hundred yards or so of level tim- 
berland, and down the steep slope on the right of 
the creek canyon, and finally, at sundown, we crept 
to the edge of the timber and looked out upon the 
three ledges over which the creek was tumbling, a 
hundred yards away. Straight across from us was 
the big brush patch at the foot of the center ledge, 
it, too, about a hundred yards from the stream. The 
old men smiled and nodded and whispered to one 
another when they saw it. 

And now, as we had planned to do, we lay per- 
fectly quiet, watching the brush patch: if the out- 
laws were in the cave that it concealed, we felt sure 
that they would be coming out at dusk for a supply 
of wood and water. Hannah lay close to me on my 
right; close on my left was our young friend; and 
beyond him the old men all in a row, each with a 
little gathering of rocks in front of him. For a time, 
sister and I were tremendously excited ; we expected 
every moment to see some of the bad men or all of 
them come out into the open. But as the day faded 
and none appeared, we became quiet enough ; then 


214 


Catching the Firebugs 

doubtful; and at last, when it was so dark that the 
brush patch was little more than a blur on the 
farther side of the creek, she whispered to me: ‘‘We 
have had our long tramp for nothing! Of course 
those firebugs are not here! Why should they be 
here instead of in any one of the thousand hiding- 
places that there are in this forest ! ’’ 

And just then our young friend nudged me with 
his elbow, and I did the same to Hannah, and 
heard one of the old men give a low hiss of caution : 
a man was leaving the brush, was coming toward 
the creek! He came on swiftly, and as he neared it 
became more plain to us, and at last we made out 
that he was carrying a bucket. We saw him stoop 
at the edge of the creek and fill and raise it to his 
face and drink, and then he refilled it and went 
back the way he had come and was lost to us in the 
darkness even before he entered the brush. We had 
been unable to see his features, but by the way he 
walked and the general outline of him, Hannah and 
I both thought that he was the deserter, Henry 
King. I whispered our belief to our young friend, 
2IS 


In the Great Apache Forest 

and he told the old men, and they all whispered to- 
gether, and finally, after some talk with me, it was 
decided that we should sneak across to the brush 
patch as soon as the night became quite dark. 

And now we were again tremendously excited — 
Hannah and I, anyhow. We wondered what was 
going to happen when we arrived in the brush — if 
we were to make a success of our undertaking, or 
get into terrible trouble ? Yes, I ’ll say it : to cross to 
that brush patch and the cave hole in it was the last 
thing that we wanted to do ; we wished, as we never 
had wished before, that we were right then safe at 
home! I told sister that she had best remain right 
where we were and wait for us to come back to her, 
but she refused to do that. To stay there all alone 
would be worse than following us, she said. 

The time came for us to start. Our young friend 
took the lead and I fell in behind him, then Hannah, 
and after her the old men. We were a long time 
making the two hundred yards to the brush patch. 
At the edge of it we stood and listened, heard noth- 
ing, then little by little moved into it, and at last 
216 


Catching the Firebugs 

stood before a small, black hole at the foot of the 
ledge. Excited and scared though I was, I almost 
laughed at our foolish confidence in our plan: We 
were to seize some big rocks quickly and block the 
cave entrance with them. Lo ! there were no rocks, 
large or small, other than the great rock ledge 
itself! 

As we stood there listening, hearing nothing, we 
caught the odor of smoke and knew that a fire was 
burning down in the cave. 

Our young friend leaned over and whispered in 
my ear: ‘‘Will you follow me down into the hole, 
just a little way; far enough to see who is there — 
how many of them ? ” 

“Yes. But I go first with my rifle,” I answered, 
and told Hannah what we were to do, and he told 
the old men. Sister tried to prevent me going, but 
I loosened her grasp upon my sleeve, and the next 
moment was crawling slowly into the hole, the 
young Hopi close at my heels. For twenty-five feet 
or more, the passage sloped down at an angle of 
about thirty degrees to the floor of the cave. When 
217 


In the Great Apache Forest 

halfway down it, I passed the level of the roof and 
saw, not far off in the intense blackness, a small fire 
and men sitting facing it. Three men! And to the 
left of the fire, leaning up against the wall of the 
cave, was the big bear hide, laced again into a frame 
of poles ! All three of the men had their backs to me, 
and how glad I was of that. Noiselessly I began to 
crawl back, and the young Hopi kept out of my 
way. I could hear the men talking; their voices 
sounded deep and hollow. One of them dropped 
something and the echo of its fall rumbled like 
thunder. 

At last I got back into the open. ^‘All three are 
down in there! They have the big bear skin!” I 
whispered to Hannah. The young Hopi whispered 
to his old men what we had seen. Noiselessly we all 
drew away from the cave entrance, out from the 
brush patch to a safe distance, and in whispers de- 
cided upon what was to be done. Hannah was to go 
to the sawmill, five miles away, for help, and the 
Indians and I were to guard the cave entrance. I 
wonder how many girls there are who would have 
218 


Catching the Firebugs 

had the courage to make that journey through the 
dark forest ? She did not fear it, however, nor had 
I any fears for her: the bad men were in the cave; 
old Double Killer was dead; there were none to do 
her harm. She left us, and we sneaked back to the 
cave hole, and sat in a row in the brush, facing it. 
If the outlaws started to come out, we were to 
shout to them to go back or we would shoot; if 
they refused to obey, we were to do our best with 
rifle, and arrows, and rocks. 

I thought that, having water, wood, the food and 
bedding that they had stolen from us, and a roof 
over their heads, the outlaws would not think of 
coming out until morning. How I hoped that they 
would n’t! I asked myself how I could possibly 
have the nerve to shoot a man, outlaw though he 
were? 

“If it comes to a show-down, I’ve just got to 
shoot, and shoot first!” I kept saying to myself. 

For a time we could now and then faintly catch 
the odor of smoke. Time passed slowly, but at last 
we got no more of the smoke, and the young Hopi 
219 


In the Great Apache Forest 

whispered to me that he was sure the bad men were 
asleep. Without doubt they were. Big, strong, grim 
old William Hammond would be with us when the 
outlaws came sneaking out of the cave hole. All 
would be well with us. I felt better. 

It was about three o’clock in the morning when 
we heard, off across the creek opening, the faint 
click of an iron shoe upon rock; and another click, 
nearer, more plain. And then, in a little while, came 
Hannah to us, and behind her William Hammond 
and five of his men. 

‘‘You have n’t had any trouble .f* The firebugs 
are still in there ? ” Hammond whispered to me. 

“No, no trouble. I think they are asleep in 
there,” I answered. 

“Good! We’ll wait until daylight, and then get 
’em out I ” He whispered to his men, and they all 
sat down with us, in a half-circle facing the hole. 

Day was not long in coming. We were all silent, 
watching the hole, looking at Hammond, wonder- 
ing what was his plan to capture the outlaws. We 
all but jumped when he suddenly roared out : “ Well, 


220 


Catching the Firebugs 

it is time we were callin’ those sleepers in there to 
breakfast ! ” And with that, he started to go into 
the cave. 

‘‘You are not going in there? They will kill 
you!” cried one of his men. 

“Not they! Nary a kill! Them kind have n’t got 
the sand to kill a chipmunk, even! Just you watch 
me get ’em out of there.” 

In he went, crawling down the incline, and his 
men, the young Hopi, and I started to follow him, 
but he ordered us back. We stood^close around the 
hole, listening, and soon heard him shout: “Hi, 
there! Henry King, you and your partners come 
out of that! Come out, I say, poco pronto! 

Then silence. We held our breath, every moment 
expecting to hear the boom of guns as the outlaws 
shot down the sawmill man. 

Then again he roared: “Come out, I say. You 
can’t get away from us! If you won’t come, we’ll 
starve you to death, in there. But you’ll die from 
thirst before you starve!” 

This time he was answered. We could not hear 


221 


In the Great Apache Forest 

what it was, but afterward learned that the de- 
serter whined: ‘‘We’ll come, if you all won’t shoot 
us.” 

And “Jones,” as he called himself, one of the 
I.W.W., had blustered: “Course we’ll come out! 
We ain’t done nothin’; you ain’t got anything on 
us!” 

And then, in a moment or two, out came Ham- 
mond, and after him, “Jones,” then “Smith,” and 
last the deserter. And when he straightened up and 
saw Hannah and me, he started back as though he 
had been struck. 

‘ “That bear hide of ours that you have in there 
is a big one, is n’t it, Henry?” I said to him. 

He gave me no answer, but suddenly cried out: 
‘"Oh, God! You fellows, let me go! Let me go! I 
did n’t want to steal anything; I could n’t help it! 
You don’t know what hell I was in. Coin’ to bed to 
the toot of a horn! Tooted at to git up ! Drillin’ all 
day! I could n’t stand it! I had to get away — 
make a sneak back to these here mountains — ” 
“My Uncle Cleveland loves these mountains. 


222 


Catching the Firebugs 

too, but he is away off there in France, fighting that 
we may keep them!” Hannah almost shouted to 
him. And how she glared at him. I had never 
thought she could look so fierce. 

And then Jones” and ‘"Smith” began to blus- 
ter that they had done nothing; that they would 
have the law on us if we did n’t let them go. But 
suddenly King cried out: “They lie! They lie! 
They helped me steal the grub and the bear skin 
and stuff. They set the forest fires — I did n’t, not 
one of them! I’ll tell the truth, and then you’ll let 
me go, won’t you ? ” 

How the firebugs cursed him then, until Ham- 
mond roared that if he heard another word from 
any of them, he would gag them all. And then, 
while three of his men guarded them, we all fol- 
lowed Hammond into the cave, and by lighting 
matches groped our way to the camping-place of 
the outlaws, and there found and lit my lamp. 
Other stuff was there besides mine. Other bedding, 
cooking-utensils, three rifles, some clothing. And, 
too, a beautiful, large, white prehistoric jar with 
223 


In the Great Apache Forest 

rain, cloud, and lightning paintings on it in black. 
When the old Hopi priests saw it they made great 
outcry. Our young friend told us that they were 
saying the sacred cave of their fathers was forever 
desecrated. 

‘‘Why, if that is so, perhaps I may have the 
jar,” said Hannah. 

“Of course you may. Nothing here is now of any 
use to us,” one answered, when he was told what 
she had asked. 

Well, we got all the stuff out of the cave. Ham- 
mond had brought all his horses, and lent us two 
upon which to pack home our belongings. Away he 
and his men went with the outlaws, to turn them 
over to the sheriff, and the Hopis went home with 
us. And the next day they set out for their own 
home in a heavy rain. 

Rain fell day after day, and so saturated the 
forest that all the fireguards were dismissed. In due 
time we got our rewards for the deserter, and for 
killing the bear, and then we sent the hide to our 
Hopi friend, and he sold it, as he had promised he 
224 


Catching the Firebugs 

would, to a tourist for four hundred and fifty dol- 
lars, and sent us a post-office order for three hun- 
dred dollars. We then sent him his share of the 
rewards that we got. We have not since heard from 
him. 

Hannah and I were witnesses at the trial of the 
firebugs, but Henry King gave the most damaging 
evidence against them before he was taken by army 
officials to be tried, and sentenced to Leavenworth 
prison. He got twenty years, and the firebugs each 
ten years. 

One thing that we wanted to hear came out at the 
trial: Henry King had found the great cave four 
years back, by following a wounded coyote to it, 
and he had never told any one of his discovery. 
Hannah and I are planning to explore it thor- 
oughly some day. 

Well, for a Lone Boy Scout, as Uncle John and 
others smilingly call me, I am of the opinion that 
I had quite an exciting summer. 


THE END 


'STbe ililberi^ibe 

CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 

U . S . A 





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